


Eternity and A Day

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Series: Underworld [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Underworld, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Forbidden Love, Full Shift Werewolves, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Prince Stiles, Reincarnation, Resurrection, Sexual Content, Slave Derek, Slavery, Torture, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Vampires, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over 1,000 years ago, the Great War between Vampires and Lycans began. Many are ignorant of how it started, uncertain who to believe now that reading into the past is forbidden.</p><p>But most believe it all started with the birth of Derek Hale, the first Lycan, a werewolf capable of retaining his human form. Spared by King Jon as a baby, he is beaten and belittled by Gerard, the most ruthless of the Vampire Coven's Elders. The one comfort Derek finds in his life is Prince Stiles, son of King Jon.</p><p>Stiles and Derek grow up together—two lonely children seeking companionship which slowly evolves into love. Their love is forbidden, separated not only by their status as royal and slave, but as Vampire and Lycan.</p><p>When the lovers make a plan to escape—to be together in a land far away from rules and regulations—fate has other plans.</p><p>[Based off of <em>Underworld: Rise of the Lycans</em>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Vampires and Lycans

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered the lovely [mgnemesi](http://mgnemesi.tumblr.com)'s [artwork](http://mgnemesi.tumblr.com/post/96099412433/sterek-underworld-the-rise-of-the-lycans-au) for a _Underworld: Rise of the Lycans_ Sterek AU. I have been thinking of writing a Sterek AU of this for a long, LONG time, and this artwork just threw me over the edge with all the feels. So, here we are. If you haven't seen the film, I suggest you do. There will be many spoilers. And if you know how the film ends, you know how this story ends. (Although, I'm not against finding a happy ending, somehow).
> 
> Some of the scenes are based off of brainstormed ideas that mgnemesi posted about when an anon asked about thoughts on mgnemesi's artwork ([x](http://mgnemesi.tumblr.com/post/96629655548/hi-is-your-pic-of-sterek-underworld-rise-of-the))

_Decades had passed since the creation of both species._

_Children of the Hale clan._

_Two siblings. One bitten by bat, one by wolf._

_The war had begun._

_The first Vampire clan had grown from the three noble families, headed by the Elders: King Jon, of the Stilinski clan; Lord Gerard, of the Argent clan; and Lord Peter, of the Hale clan._

_Gerard made it his mission to create a legion of Vampires to protect them from the very first clan of werewolves: a vicious and infectious breed unable to take human form ever again. Gerard convinced Jon and Peter of the necessity for a large army, one large enough to meet and battle against Talia’s wolves._

_All changed when **he** was born. Derek._

_Talia, of the Hale clan, first werewolf and cursed sister of Peter, had a child before her death. Where Peter was cursed to have an eternity of night, Talia was to never retake her human form, forced to roam eternity as a wolf. Before Derek’s birth, it was never before heard that the first werewolves would, or even could, breed to produce offspring. This child, however, was different. This child had the form of a human._

_The decision of Derek’s life came down to Jon. As ruling King, he took place as the head Elder, and although every fiber of Jon’s soul warned him to slay this child, he did not._

_Over the years, this child grew. He possessed a strength and focus that the ones before him did not. Jon had given Derek chances the others wouldn’t dream of giving him, he even let Derek spend time with Stiles. Two lonely children bonding in their mutual seclusion—the loneliness given to them by their birthrights._

_All seemed perfect until the Elders began to cycle through time: two asleep, one awake. Stiles begged his father to not agree with Gerard knowing that everything would change the moment Gerard took over as the only Elder to give judgment. Jon reassured Stiles that everything would be okay, and that they would see each other soon._

_Everything fell the moment Peter and Jon took their slumber, leaving the Coven at the mercy of Gerard. And he immediately turned his sights on Derek._

_Gerard would use Derek’s infectious blood to his benefit, taking advantage of his wolf’s thirst, pitting it against him as he was forced to feed on humans—Gerard’s slaves._

_Instead, he created a new race of immortals: Lycans. Werewolf but also human. Unlike the others, this new breed could be harnessed—enslaved to guard them in the daylight hours of their masters._

_Or so Gerard thought …_

 


	2. Children of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all takes place before the events of the film.

Derek was eight when Stiles ran into him in the hallway. Stiles had been running from his guards, determined to avoid going to his lessons today, wanting to pretend that he wasn’t a prince for once. Derek had been heading to the servants quarters, determined to spend the rest of his night in his room, out of sight and mind.

Stiles had been looking behind him, carefully watching for guards to come chasing after him. Derek had been keeping his eyes on the ground, something Gerard often scolded him on—smacking the back of his head with a wolfsbane laced cane whenever he forgot.

“Ow!” Stiles shouted as he collided with Derek, falling onto his back. He slightly cursed as he tried to keep himself upright before looking at Derek.

Derek was still standing, looking down at Stiles as he was sprawled out on the floor. He stared at him, uncertain how to act now that he had knocked the prince onto the ground.

“What is wrong with you?” Stiles snapped. He glared at Derek as he remained silent. “Are you not going to help me up?”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “You can stand on your own,” he pointed out before he realized what he was saying.

“How dare you,” Stiles started, immediately scrambling to his feet. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

Derek knew he had spoken out of turn, deserving all of Stiles’ wrath. He bit down on his tongue, waiting for whatever Stiles would say.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak when his head suddenly snapped around to look down the hallway were he came from.

“Prince Stiles,” a voice called his name before its owner rounded the corner. “Are you not supposed to be in your lessons?”

“I was … delayed, Gerard,” Stiles frowned, shuffling to the side when Gerard grew closer.

Derek kept his eyes on the ground, determined to fall into the background in an attempt to avoid Gerard’s gaze. But he knew it was pointless.

“Have you been distracting the prince, Derek?” Gerard questioned.

Derek remained quiet, knowing that no matter what he said, Gerard would find a way to change it.

“He wasn’t—”

“Please, Stiles,” Gerard put his hand up to Stiles, silencing the young prince. “I was speaking to Derek.”

Derek hesitated, raising his eyes slightly. The force from the back of Gerard’s hand caused him to turn his head, the impact causing his ear to ring. It felt as if his head had split open, a sharp jabbing pain radiating through his skull.

“You know better than to look us in the eyes, dog,” Gerard berated.

“Apologies, my lord,” Derek softly replied. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Gerard stated. “Now, did you delay the prince?”

Derek heard an intake of breath from Stiles. “I did.”

Stiles blinked, uncertain why Derek lied for him. He opened his mouth to speak, frowning when he couldn’t find his voice to defend Derek.

“That’s very foolish,” Gerard replied. “You should scamper back to your hovel before you cause more people to be delayed.”

Derek nodded, keeping his head bowed as he waited for Gerard to escort Stiles out of the hallway. He couldn’t help but look up, gaze connecting with Stiles’ warm, whiskey eyes—a sharp contrast to the normally icy glow of other Vampires as they glared at him. He knew he should look away, ignorant to let his eyes linger on the prince. A knot twisted in his stomach when Stiles smiled at him, silently mouthing a thank you to him.

After that, Stiles never snapped at Derek when they happened to cross one another in the hallways. He even began to converse with Derek, when he was confident the human servants would not run to Gerard with the knowledge.

With every passing year, Derek grew stronger, his body maturing faster than both Vampire and human children. His senses were sharper than ever as he practiced night and day, fighting the different slaves thrown at him. He paused in his actions when he spotted Stiles standing beside Jon on the balcony overlooking the chambers.

Stiles stood by his father, twisting his mother’s pendant in his fingers. He was intently watching Derek, a small smile falling over his lips when Derek easily deflected another attack. He felt his father’s hand tightly grasping his shoulder, causing him to look up at him.

“What do you think, Stiles?” Jon asked.

Peter tensed from his spot behind the council members. His eyes flickered towards Stiles, watching the child about to seal his nephew’s fate.

“Jon,” Gerard spoke his name, clearly motivated by his desires to watch Derek fail. Derek was given more free-range than Gerard saw fit. He wanted everything related to werewolves kept under lock and key, unable to roam around with the freedom Jon allowed.

“It’s fine, Gerard,” Jon replied, waiting for Stiles’ response.

Stiles briefly looked at Gerard before looking back at his father. His gaze moved to look down at Derek. He hid his own smile when Derek continued to look up at him.

“He’s a good fighter,” Stiles confessed.

“He is,” Jon replied. “Should Derek watch over us in the daylight?”

“Would he?” Stiles asked as he continued to look at Derek.

“Would you, Derek?” Jon asked in a louder voice than Stiles had.

Derek knew the answer to Stiles’ question before the king could even ask him. He knew something was pulling him towards the prince, and he could no longer fight it. He relished every moment spent in the prince’s company, no matter how many times it resulted in reprimand, often times being secluded from each other for days. Jon never parted them, but he never placed them together either.

Derek knew that he would protect Stiles without question—with unwavering loyalty. With every last ounce of his strength, he would.

“Yes, your majesty,” Derek stated, unable to keep his eyes off of Stiles.

~*~

When Derek was twelve, with Stiles barely reaching his ninth year, the king’s caravan was attacked while traveling to one of the human territories. Countless of Talia’s wolves had fallen to wander aimlessly now that Talia had been slain. They were beasts without a leader to give them direction. And the caravan passing through the forest was too tempting to them—they had to attack the disturbance to their normally quiet territory.

The wolves practically overran the caravan in no time, easily slaughtering the human guards, taking apart vampiric guards—the Death Dealers—one by one.

Derek sought out cover, hiding beneath one of the many carriages. He watched as Peter stood his ground, easily dispatching any wolf that came near him. He heard Gerard yelling at Peter to engage in the fight. Peter ignored Gerard, taking care of himself as he appeared to be unconcerned with what happened to the others.

That was when Derek heard Stiles yell. It was Derek’s wolf that reacted before his human side could even register what was happening. He turned towards Stiles’ yells, scurrying back towards the royal carriage. He caught sight of Stiles fighting against a wolf clawing its way through the side of the carriage.

Stiles effortlessly dodged the wolf’s claws, kicking its muzzle hard enough to make it shout in pain. He fell backwards, pressing as far back from the animal as possible. He panicked when the back of the carriage was ripped away from him, causing him to tumble head over heels backward. He scurried almost under the carriage, afraid that it was another wolf before he realized it was Derek.

Stiles reached for Derek, glad that Derek grasped his arms to pull him up to him. He held Stiles against his body, pulling him away from the carriage and the wolf trying to get to him. Stiles clung to Derek, unwilling to let go of him in all the chaos of the fight.

It was almost instant, the way Derek’s wolf took over, knowing that he wasn’t enough to fight back the endless waves of wolves overrunning them. Derek pushed Stiles behind him, his body snapping to attention as the moon burned brightly through the sky, spurring on the energy pulsing through his muscles. His bones creaked and groaned as they snapped and reformed, his body becoming larger, fur replacing his human skin as his muzzle built.

Stiles stood still as he watched Derek transform into a wolf. He immediately noticed how much larger Derek was than his human form, his fur an ink black that blended him into the night. He watched in awe as Derek reared his head back, howling loudly into the night.

The forest fell silent. The fighting as stopped. The wolves were frozen in their spots. Derek released a roar, the wolves reacting in a wave as they flinched away from him. They silently slunk away, back into the trees as they left behind the remnants of the caravan.

Stiles continued to watch Derek, waiting to see what he would do next. He stood his ground as Derek turned to face him. He was surprised by his calmness with facing Derek’s wolf form for the first time.

Derek’s lips were curled up around his fangs, his snout ducked down in respect. His eyes were still the same color, almost glowing through the moonlight. He was worrying about what Stiles was thinking, uncertain if he would be afraid of this form.

But Stiles only reached for Derek, his fingertips steady as they almost touched Derek’s nose.

Derek released a roar of pain when a wolfsbane arrow pierced through his back. He struggled when another cut into his thigh, yanking back harshly to pull him to the ground.

“Stop!” Stiles yelled, desperate for the Death Dealers to release him. “He wasn’t attacking me! He saved me!”

“Stand away from the animal, young prince,” Gerard replied.

“He turned to save me!” Stiles protested, scrambling to get to his father’s side as he quickly rode over to check on his son. “Father, please, tell them to release him!”

“Cease your fire,” Jon stated, guaranteeing that another arrow wouldn’t pierce Derek’s skin. He dismounted his horse to carefully inspect Stiles, content when he saw his son didn’t have a scratch on him. He turned his attention towards Derek, watching as the boy transformed back into his human form.

The wolfsbane in the arrows became a dull ache as Derek’s human skin replaced his fur. He tried to curl around himself in order to shrink away, but the chains attached to the arrows restrained him from doing so. He was open and vulnerable, and positive that he was going to die for his attempts to protect Stiles.

“He was warned to never change unless ordered,” Gerard stated. “You told him these rules yourself.”

“He’s a child,” Peter stated in annoyance, glaring at Gerard.

“A dangerous child,” Gerard corrected him. “He could have harmed the prince.”

“He was the only one protecting the prince,” Peter replied.

“You should have crushed him under your heel the day he was born,” Gerard stated as he turned his attention to Jon.

Peter released a growl, his eyes glowing blue, a warning that he was ready to attack Gerard.

“You’ve kept him as a pet, because of Peter,” Gerard commented to Jon.

“Jon,” Peter called the king’s name through bared fangs. “He’s a child. He reacted on instinct when he saw someone he’s meant to protect in danger.” He paused, assessing the king’s features before quickly adding, “You wanted him to protect you in the sunlight, and here he is protecting you in the moonlight as well.”

Jon frowned, aware of Stiles’ weight against his side. “He is never to change, Peter,” he finally concluded. “He was told that he was never to shift.”

“You expected a twelve year old to be able to fight off a full grown wolf?” Peter challenged. “Some grown Vampires can’t even do that themselves.”

“He communicated with them,” Gerard stated. “They _listened_ to him.”

“Your majesty, if I may,” Derek started, panting heavy from the exertion of his change. “I would never—” He muffled his own scream of pain when Gerard tore on the chain attached to the arrowhead lodged in his back.

“Gerard!” Jon sternly spoke his name in a loud voice, the demand for him to cease was evident in his tone. “Derek,” he turned his attention towards him. “Finish speaking.”

Derek hung his head low out of respect. “Your majesty, I would never betray you or your son. What Lord Peter said was true. I acted solely on my instincts to protect. I knew I couldn’t fight the wolves in my human form, so I changed to protect the prince. I didn’t know my howl would scare them off. I swear to you.”

“You can’t just let him go unpunished,” Gerard snapped.

“Your son would be dead without him,” Peter replied.

“Enough!” John snapped. “Enough,” he sighed once more. “To kill Derek for protecting my son is counter productive. However …”

Derek closed his eyes, knowing he was going to have to be punished for disobeying. “I accept your every punishment, your majesty,” he quietly spoke.

“Father,” Stiles pleaded.

“Fifteen lashes,” Jon stated.

“Fifteen?” Gerard asked in evident anger.

“Fifteen is more than enough of a punishment,” Jon stated.

~*~

Derek lay on the cold ground of his cell, Gerard demanding he be locked up in the prison for several days as additional punishment. He focused on the way his skin slowly knit itself back together, the gaping wounds of his back slowly becoming a distant memory. The burn in his skin varied as it flared some seconds before disappearing, the wolfsbane still deep in the wounds. He was proud at how well he managed to keep himself together during the whipping, taking comfort in the fact that Gerard was less than pleased with his punishment. He assumed that was why Gerard had wolfsbane added to the serrated edges of the whip.

Derek ignored the sound of the cell’s door opening, positive that it was a guard coming to toss food at him. He jerked when delicate fingertips brushed his arm, pushing his body up off of the ground.

Stiles looked down at Derek in concern, frowning when he realized Derek was pulling away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed. “I just wanted to apologize for this happening.” He turned his attention to the bag he had hanging from his shoulder. He searched through the satchel, pulling a vial from it. “I got this from Deaton. It’s meant clean wounds that have been laced with wolfsbane.”

Derek stared at the vial, hovering just far enough away from Stiles that he was out of his reach. _Why would he have a vial for cleaning wolfsbane?_

“You shouldn’t be here, my prince,” Derek stated, looking down at the ground.

“Derek, please,” Stiles begged, feeling the walls starting to divide them again. “I’m trying to help you,” he stubbornly added. “Now let me see your back.”

“I’m fine,” Derek replied as he backed away from Stiles’ outstretched hand.

“Please, let me see,” Stiles asked.

“Your highness, if Gerard knew, you could be in danger,” Derek explained.

“I don’t care!” Stiles snapped, his eyes suddenly burning their icy blue as he glared at Derek, hot tears burning his eyes. “I don’t care what Gerard does to me! I’m tired of him hurting you because of me!” He huffed, ignoring the tears he shed in favor of waiving the vial between them.

Derek remained silent before slowly turning to offer his back to Stiles. He could hear the rustling of Stiles’ clothes as he moved to sit behind him, the vial opening with a small popping sound. He flinched even before Stiles managed to dab at his wounds.

“I didn’t touch you yet,” Stiles sheepishly admitted.

“I know,” Derek replied. “But I figure it’s going to hurt.”

“So you flinch before I even start?”

“I’ve seen the humans do it,” Derek replied with a shrug of his shoulders, immediately regretting it once a sharp pain stabbed through his back.

Stiles worked in silence, thoroughly cleaning Derek’s wounds of the wolfsbane. He paused to inspect his work, his fingertips gently caressing the skin that already healed.

Derek released a small chuckle, a tickle moving through his back as he rolled his shoulder blades. He noticed Stiles arms flailing back from him in surprise. He risked turning his head to look at the young prince.

Stiles had his hands clasped against his chest, watching Derek carefully, uncertain what he did to make Derek laugh.

“Tickled,” Derek explained.

Stiles bashfully ducked his head as a blush enflamed his cheeks.

“Prince Stiles,” a Death Dealer’s voice broke the silence, startling both boys from the moment.

“I’m coming,” Stiles quietly answered. He stood up, returning the vial to his satchel before looking back at Derek. He paused his movements until he heard the Death Dealer move away from the cell’s door. “I wanted to thank you for earlier. For saving my life, even if it broke my father’s orders for you to never shift.”

Derek remained motionless, obediently keeping his distance from Stiles. “I did it to protect you,” he whispered.

“I know,” Stiles admitted. “Now it’s my turn to start protecting you.”

~*~

As the years passed, a fondness grew between the two of them with every passing day. Stiles had been given leave to spend his hours in solitude as long as he finished his lessons for the day. He elected to spend that spare time with Derek, finding secluded places here and there to avoid the disapproving eyes of the others.

Most days, they found themselves by the creek at the far edge of the Coven’s borders. They would relax under the giant oak tree, Stiles usually dangling his feet into the water. Sometimes, he would kick water at Derek, laughing whenever Derek would mock scowl at him.

Most days were spent with Derek listening as Stiles told him about his day, complaining about Harris’ lessons but constantly avoiding all mentions of Gerard. Derek would watch Stiles speak with his hands—an endless flow of movement in hurried explanation—smiling out of fondness.

They never made a mention of their nudity as they swam in the creek, always ducking their gaze from one another. It wasn’t until they were older when Derek first noticed Stiles’ eyes lingering on him when he was shedding his clothes. He paused his movements, catching Stiles’ gaze. Stiles immediately realized he was caught, turning his head away with a faint blush.

Derek didn’t mind the way Stiles began to look at him, having evolved an adoration for Stiles long before the Vampire had for him. He often found himself studying the constellations of marks sweeping across Stiles’ pale, milky skin, his eyes only leaving them to become lost in the swirls of honey in Stiles’ eyes. Everything about the young Vampire distracted Derek on a daily basis, never able to concentrate fully when together. That was what worried him most about spending time with Stiles. Derek had convinced himself that he would lose control eventually, and it would be in Stiles’ presence. He grew warier with every passing rendezvous.

They would often swim together, splashing with laughter as the moon beamed brightly through the trees. It became apparent to Stiles that Derek kept a constant eye on the moon, a nervousness falling over him whenever it began to wax close to its full phase. Derek would often hide away from Stiles on those nights, stating that he was unable to successfully sneak away. Stiles would often show resolve for finding Derek during the waking hours of the sun, ignoring his own sleep in favor of spending time with him.

Stiles was fourteen when he found Derek crouched in pain as he fought off his transformation under the gaze of the moon. It was the first time the moon’s light brought out Derek’s bloodlust, and Stiles was more surprised that Derek had elected to not tell him about any of it. Stiles had wanted to see Derek that night, feeling as if something was wrong when he left his room during the last few hours of moonlight to head to Derek’s. He hesitated as he stood in the doorway, frowning as he tried to determine whether he should enter the room upon hearing Derek’s growls of pain. He knew Derek sensed him when his head snapped to attention. He kept his ground as he watched Derek, determined to stay strong. He knew Derek expected him to run—to flinch at the sight of him.

“Derek,” Stiles started, not making an attempt to move.

“You have to leave,” Derek struggled to speak as his fangs grew, his shift taking over him.

The longer Derek was without shifting into his wolf, the harder if became for him to withhold from transforming during the full moon. Most days he would wait until he was in the safety of his room while the Vampires slept, transforming for a few minutes before retaking his human form. Only this time, as he was transforming back into human form, his shift stopped. He was stuck half between man and beast, and he feared turning back into wolf—certain that he would never return to his human skin again.

“You’re in pain,” Stiles stated.

“Stiles, please,” Derek begged, his fists tightening into the sheets from his kneeling spot by the bed’s edge. “For your own safety, you need to leave.”

“I can help you,” Stiles replied, moving closer to Derek.

“Stiles!” Derek warned, trying to move away from him. “I’m a monster,” he finally stated. “I’m a killer, and you need to keep your distance,” he pleaded.

“We are all monsters of the night, Derek,” Stiles explained, gently moving to sit on the bed beside Derek’s hands. “I am, just as much a monster as you are. But we’re predators, not killers.” He moved to slip his hands into Derek’s, not flinching at the feeling of his claws against his skin. “I’m not turning you away, so don’t turn me away.”

Derek hesitated, looking up at Stiles. He knew he had the appearance of a beast, unable to control the way his eyes burned red, his brow already shifted, his claws still struggling to tear. He was certain his hideous appearance would drive Stiles away. “You should leave,” he breathed, fighting against the pain of shifting. His fangs began to dull, his claws retracting as he hung onto his humanity, fighting against the bloodlust running through his veins. His heart began to calm, keeping his eyes on Stiles. All he could focus on was Stiles and the way he didn’t recoil from him.

“I won’t leave you,” Stiles reassured him. He reached out, taking Derek’s head in his hands as he motioned him to rest his head in his lap. He ran his fingers through Derek’s hair in order to soothe his tremors. “I’ll stay with you until the moon falls.”

They remained in comforting silence, listening to the mingling beats of their hearts. Stiles’ was soft and slow, almost nonexistent, whereas Derek’s was strong and heavy, beating loudly as the moon continued to pull at his instincts. With every shiver that raked through Derek’s body, Stiles whispered words of comfort, his hands putting him at ease as they moved across his skin in a calming manner.

The moon released her hold on Derek as the sun began to rise, washing away the darkness of night. Derek pulled himself from Stiles’ grasp, reluctantly moving from the welcoming warmth of his arms. He hesitated before looking up at Stiles.

Stiles offered Derek a shy smile before looking to the door, knowing that he should leave. He lingered, not making a move to stand. He knew his scent had soaked into Derek’s sheets, and would continue to cling to them even long after his departure. And he knew Derek would be able to bask in it if he so chose to.

“You should go, young prince,” Derek respectfully commented.

“I should,” Stiles stated. “But do you want me to?”

“Your father would not like it if you remained,” Derek replied, casting his eyes downward.

“I know,” Stiles admitted. He slowly inched closer to Derek. “But I did not ask how my father would feel about it. I asked about you.”

“Stiles,” Derek spoke his name as he looked up. He held his breath when he realized just how close Stiles was, their faces only a few inches apart.

Stiles’ lips were parted, his eyes scanning Derek’s features. His tongue quickly darted across his lips, an action Derek’s eyes gladly followed. He quickly pressed his lips against Derek’s, not entirely sure who was emitting the moan of approval, but Stiles accepted it. He smiled into their kiss when Derek pulled him forward.

It was everything they needed wrapped up in one shared moment. It was even easier for them to forget the problems of the world stuck outside the room. Focusing on nothing but each other as they held one another close, they kissed the pain of their stations away.

“You should still go,” Derek finally replied when Stiles pulled back long enough for him to catch his thoughts.

“I don’t want to,” Stiles replied. “And neither do you.”

“It’s not about what we want,” Derek stated in defeat. “I’ve grown up knowing I can’t have you—and today is no different.”

“Don’t ruin this with talk of separation,” Stiles replied. “You know how stubborn I am, and just how unwilling I will be to let you go now that you’ve let me have you.”

“I want you too much to risk discovery,” Derek’s voice wavered as he spoke. “I have nothing—I am nothing. I’m not even permitted to look at you, yet I’ve broken every command I’ve been given just to steal a few moments. And this—this moment, will forever be branded in my mind as _why_ I can’t have you. It’s too much—too valuable—for an animal like me.”

“You’re not the only one to be left wanting these past years,” Stiles replied in earnest. “My eyes have lingered, many nights, as I think of nothing but the touch of your hands and the taste of your lips.” He gently caressed his thumb over Derek’s bottom lip, his eyes following his action. “Do not turn me away, Derek, because I would never turn you away.”

Stiles knew he had won his argument when Derek closed the space between them once more. The kiss was fierce, an attempt to shove Stiles away, but it only solidified just how much they both wanted one another.

Their time together became that more precious, constantly meeting in darkness as Lydia, Stiles’ personal servant, kept their lies as her own—constantly evading questions of Stiles’ location or hiding away in Stiles’ room while pretending to keep him company as he snuck away to see Derek.

Stiles was sixteen when they first actively touched one another, previous reservations completely gone in the wake of their new found desire. It all happened when they were swimming in the creek, Stiles playfully splashed Derek, laughing as he grabbed his arm, pulling him in close. Stiles pretended to struggle, smiling as he let Derek hold him close.

Derek hesitated before leaning in, gently kissing Stiles as he ran his hands over his shoulders and down his arms. It was as if a floodgate had opened, a rush and tumble of kisses and quiet confessions of want.

Stiles shuddered as he pressed into Derek’s arms, a small moan escaping his throat. He let Derek pull him closer to the edge, making it easy for them to stand in the shallow water of the creek, neither of them releasing their hold on the other. Their hands easily wandered each other’s body, grasping and pulling in an attempt to feel some release.

The flowing water was a constant noise, easily muffling the sound of their soft murmurs and forbidden gasps of desire. Stiles felt as if he was melting in Derek’s arms, his entire body becoming lax as he gave into his need to feel him against his body. It was a new sensation, to feel Derek’s bare skin against his, something Stiles never thought he’d know.

“Derek,” Stiles moaned his name in urgency, his hands wander the span of Derek’s shoulders, moving down his back to explore further.

Derek pulled Stiles closer, their bodies completely flushed against one another. He angled Stiles’ head just right, exploring his mouth in earnest, his teeth gently nipping his bottom lip every so often.

The night was filled with moans and curses, both of them giving into their need for the other. Afterwards, as they lay in the aftermath, Derek kept his eyes shut, smiling at Stiles’ small rants. Stiles’ voice was almost muffled as he curled even further into Derek’s side, pressing his face into Derek’s chest as he tried to memorize the feeling of everything Derek.

A small silence grew between them as they lay naked in the leaves under the oak tree. Derek’s fingertips slowly moved back and forth on Stiles’ hip as he stared up at the moon, knowing that he was making a mistake. He let Stiles into his life—into his heart—and there was no way to undo it now.

“Do you remember your mother?” Stiles suddenly questioned, his own fingers idly playing with the pendant still secured around his neck.

Derek’s fingers paused their movement. In all his years, he barely thought of his mother. It wasn’t until he was about ten when he discovered Peter was his uncle. Peter was the only family Derek was aware of, and even then, he was only family through biology, nothing more. He had no family—no pack. He was alone in the world, all except for Stiles, and even then he couldn't claim Stiles was anything more to him than one of his masters.

“I haven’t really thought about her,” Derek confessed.

“Oh,” Stiles replied, knowing he was treading on a sensitive topic. He abandoned the pendant to move his fingers through Derek’s chest hair, a small distraction from his own question. “I barely remember my mother. She’s sometimes just a short memory—her reading me stories, or her and my father dancing. But nothing more.” He was almost positive he should pull away, maybe ruining the entire night with his random question.

“Sometimes I think I see her,” Derek suddenly offered, putting Stiles back at ease. “I see long black hair, a strong smile—sometimes I even think I can remember her hugging me.” He released a deep sigh before swallowing the lump in his throat. “But she was a monster. She couldn’t do any of those things.”

“She could still love you,” Stiles replied, lifting his head from Derek’s chest to look at him.

“She was nothing but an animal,” Derek didn’t look at Stiles as he spoke. “Like me,” he solemnly added.

Stiles bit his bottom lip before he gave into his impulses. “Do you love me?”

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles in surprise. In all honesty, he never thought about it. Everything Stiles was had become a blessing to him, something he never thought he would ever have—could ever have. But he couldn’t ignore it or deny it. He loved every part of Stiles.

“Yes,” Derek plainly stated. “I don’t know when it happened, but I do love you.”

Stiles smiled, leaning up to kiss Derek. “As I love you.” They lost themselves in their kiss, desperately clinging to each other as they reveled in the feeling of having one another in their arms.

Derek held back a whine of protest when Stiles finally pulled back, placing a quick kiss against his lips as he sat up. He followed Stiles’ suit as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, closely watching Stiles.

“My whole point,” Stiles started. “Before you distracted me with your kissing—”

“You kissed me first,” Derek commented.

“Semantics,” Stiles replied with a wave of his hand. “But what I was saying is that if you are capable of love, and you think you’re the same as your mother … then don’t you think you mother could have loved you?”

~*~

“Your son and the dog appear close,” Gerard started, addressing Jon for the first time that night.

“His name is Derek,” Peter snapped, glaring at Gerard over the rim of his goblet.

“And what are your concerns with Derek, Gerard?” Jon questioned as he tried to keep the peace between the two men.

“His eyes linger on the prince longer than is necessary,” Gerard explained.

“He’s a teenage boy,” Peter replied. “You can’t tell me you’ve never had desires in your youth.”

“My desires never went after one above my station,” Gerard snapped.

“Stiles has found a friend in Derek, nothing more.”

“He is a Hale,” Gerard stated, eyes lingering on Peter. “If he convinces the prince to bite him—”

Peter vocally scoffed, rolling his eyes at Gerard’s speculations.

“You think he’s impossible of manipulation?” Gerard questioned.

“You honestly think Derek wishes to attempt mixing the bloodlines? The boy is content in his solitary life,” Peter replied.

“I think he craves his freedom,” Gerard replied. “Like any animal does. Like his mother did.”

“You pompous, arrogant son of a bitch—” Peter started to move towards Gerard, venom dripping from his words as he prepared to attack him.

Jon moved between the two men, a placating hand colliding with Peter’s chest when he tried to push past him. “Enough! The both of you!” He turned his attention to Gerard when he was confident Peter wouldn’t try to move forward. “I will speak with my son about his relationship with Derek. After that, I do not wish to hear about this again. Do I make myself clear?”

It took several moments, but Jon waited until both Gerard and Peter left, sighing before turning his attentions towards the servant’s door. “You can come out now, Stiles.” He wasn’t surprised when the door opened, his son slowly slipping into the room to greet his father.

“Father,” Stiles bowed his head in respect, trying to pretend that he wasn’t just caught eavesdropping.

“How much did you hear?” Jon asked, ignoring Stiles’ charade of ignorance.

“About Derek,” Stiles admitted.

“Then you know Gerard’s stance,” Jon replied.

“Gerard has always hated Derek. He’s unnecessarily cruel to him.”

Jon frowned, sadly shaking his head before looking at Stiles. “I’ve done my best to keep you from the fight. But you have seen the wolves at our door, Stiles.”

“And Derek is nothing like them,” Stiles argued.

Jon kept his eyes on Stiles, evaluating his son. His eyebrows furrowed, knowing deep in his heart that Gerard was right—Stiles and Derek were more than friendly. “I’m only going to ask you this once, Stiles, and I want the truth. What is your relationship with Derek?”

“Father,” Stiles sighed, uncertain he could keep lying to him.

“I want the truth, Stiles,” his father restated, turning to face his son. “I will not be mad. At you—or Derek.”

Stiles paused, observing his father’s features. He was uncertain just how truthful his father’s statement was. His father never before tried to lie to him—to manipulate him into telling him something. But he was uncertain just how angry his father would be if he knew the truth.

“I … Father, I love him,” Stiles finally stated.

His father remained motionless, lounging freely in his chair. He scanned Stiles’ features, carefully watching him. He released a sigh when he detected no lie in Stiles’ words.

“You have to end it,” Jon stated, standing from his seat.

“Father—” Stiles began to protest, only to bite his tongue when his father held up a stern hand.

“You are my son, and I love you,” Jon began. “And I will not see you fall victim to a seductive illusion.”

“Illusion?” Stiles questioned. “He loves me and I love him. There is no illusion in that.”

“Stiles,” Jon sighed his name, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Please don’t make me turn him away,” Stiles almost begged.

“Turn him away,” Jon echoed. He suddenly looked up at Stiles, understanding falling over his features. “Have you lain with him?”

Stiles froze, uncertain how his father would react. Neither his father nor the council ever cared about the idea of him having conquests, enabling him to actively pursue Derek in secret since they were children. But now, his father seemed to be teetering on the edge of banishing him to another Coven—or worse, punishing Derek.

“Stiles, answer me,” Jon stated in a low, serious tone.

“No,” Stiles stated, almost believing it himself. He didn’t necessarily lay with Derek, given that their relationship had only begun to blossom while still under the stress of possible detection. They had touched one another several times, bringing them to the edge of pleasure before tumbling headfirst into much sought after euphoria. But besides their hands or mouths, they never progressed further than that.

Jon paused, watching Stiles carefully before nodding. “Whatever it is, end it.”

“Father—”

“End it, Stiles,” Jon snapped, standing from his throne. He moved forward, closing in on Stiles’ space. “You are different from Derek,” he explained. “You cannot be together despite how much you believe him to care for you.”

“I don’t believe, I know,” Stiles defiantly muttered.

“He is an animal, Stiles,” Jon unrelentingly replied. “And until you understand that, you are not to go near him.”

“But—” Stiles moved forward to protest.

“It is my own fault for allowing you to remain attached to him for as long as you have,” Jon explained.

“Father, please—”

“Enough!” Jon suddenly bellowed, his eyes flaring blue. A moment of silence grew between them before he added, “Enough, Stiles. It’s enough. You will both learn your places.”

That was the day the collar first clasped around Derek’s neck. He hadn’t struggled when the guards entered his room, physically escorting him into the public square were it could be made a mockery of, thanks to Gerard’s planning.

“You are to never remove this collar,” Jon started, encasing the collar around Derek’s neck, twisting the key to lock the metal entrapment into place. He tried to adjust the metal to prevent the teeth from cutting into Derek’s neck; unable to find a decent way to have the collar’s teeth lay, he moved back from Derek. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Derek stated, his gaze focused on the ground.

“I am sorry, Derek,” Jon nearly whispered as he turned to leave.

Derek tired to ignore the knot welling in his stomach, knowing full well that this was the beginning of the end. He was being forced from Stiles’ arms, cast outside the castle’s wall to be confined to the forge, like a dog no longer welcomed in his master’s household. He was to live the life he was born into—the life of a slave, with Stiles forever out of his reach.

After the crowd disbursed, everyone retiring as the sun threatened to rise, Derek dared to look up. His eyes scanned the walls, falling on the balcony he knew belonged to Stiles. He caught sight of Stiles lingering by the stained glass of his doors. As their eyes met, a small amount of hope grew in Derek’s core when he realized Stiles wasn’t avoiding his gaze. They remained holding each other’s eye contact, and even as the sun spilled over the trees, Stiles only backed away from the balcony when the sun’s light tumbled into his room.

It was a promise, one that Derek was willing to keep: no matter what stood in their way, their longing to be together would never wane.


	3. Lovers of the Night

Derek shifted the weight of the collar on his neck. Even after the decades of wearing it along his neck didn’t change just how unbearable the weight could be. The metal chaffed as the teeth pierced his skin. He knew that no matter how he wiggled it, it would never set comfortably—he was certain Gerard designed it to be like that. He turned his attentions to the heated metal in his hand, easily hammering it out. All he had to do was focus on completing his weapons inventory for the day before he could rest the weight from his neck.

Derek ignored the sounds of commotion coming from the guards readying themselves as a lone rider headed towards their walls. The howls from the forest grew louder as the wolves closed in on their prey. He wasn’t concerned with the outcome until he placed the heartbeat. His head jerked up from focusing on the forge, honing his senses in on the rider.

 _Stiles_.

Derek quickly moved, grabbing the crossbow from its resting place. He made his way to the wall, the guards all ignoring him as they scrambled. He took his time as he scanned the land, spotting the rider exiting the forest at full gallop, three wolves in pursuit. He waited, placing the wolf closest to the rider in his crosshairs.

The rider hardly reacted when the arrow slammed into the first wolf’s head. The rider turned, unsheathing his sword to run through the next wolf as it lunged for him. He swiftly executed the wolf, turning his attention forward as he pressed the horse to ride faster. He barely made it through the Coven’s gates before they shut, slowly to a halt as he turned to face the last wolf. He was surprised to find the wolf motionless on the ground.

Derek jumped from his perch on the wall, landing next to the wolf. He turned his attention to look up at the rider as he rose from his crouched position. He knew it was Stiles, regardless of the helmet obscuring his face from sight.

Stiles turned his horse around, quickly snatching his helmet from his head before tossing it to the ground, anger flashing across his face. “Have you nothing better to do, blacksmith, than to play with weapons of war?” His eyes burned their icy blue as he held out his sword, blade stationed just under Derek’s chin. His gaze flickered over Derek’s form, watching him carefully as the Lycan stared up at him, his palms facing upwards in a placating manner. “At least make yourself useful.” Stiles stated as he dropped his sword into Derek’s hands, the edge of the blade easily slicing into the flesh beside his Adam’s apple as Stiles relinquished the blade from its threatening stance.

“A little gratitude, Stiles,” Gerard interrupted the moment as he approached them. “Derek saved your life.”

“I needed no saving,” Stiles snapped, looking down at Derek.

Derek moved his eyes from Stiles, knowing he was to keep them forever planted on the ground.

“Tell me, Derek, does it burden your heart to kill your own kind?”

“Not at all,” Derek obediently replied. “They’re mindless beasts, my lord. No brethren of mine.”

“Really?” Gerard questioned.

“Gerard,” Stiles stated his name tensely to pull his sight from Derek. His gaze lingered before he turned his horse around, trotting off to the stables.

Derek’s own eyes lingered on Stiles longer than he should have allowed, knowing Gerard caught him before he was able to return his sight to the ground.

“You are a _credit_ to you race, Derek,” Gerard stated as he circled Derek like a hawk, nothing in his tone suggesting that he was sincere in his words. “Do you know how to remain so?”

Derek remained quiet, knowing Gerard was waiting for an excuse to punish him.

“Keep your eyes on the ground, where they belong. You were a pet once, but keep pushing your boundaries and even Stiles’ childhood fondness for you won’t be enough to save you,” Gerard sharply answered before marching off after Stiles.

Derek kept his gaze on the ground, unable to avoid the wolf corpse only a few feet from him.  He frowned, a small longing pulling at his heart as his wolf mournfully howled for killing the other wolves. He pushed those thoughts back, remembering who he had saved by killing those wolves—remembering who mattered most to him.

~*~

“The council missed you this evening,” Gerard stated once he caught up to Stiles’ quickened steps.

“There are other demands on my time, as you know,” Stiles sighed, hoping that Gerard would leave him.

“I see. I hope you enjoyed your little moonlit ride, young prince,” Gerard mocked him.

“I was out patrolling,” Stiles answered in a tired tone.

“You were disobeying,” Gerard corrected him. “I told you to stay within these walls.”

“Told?” Stiles turned to face Gerard, displeased with how much liberty he had taken since his father’s slumber began.

“You risk too much,” Gerard replied. “Your father would not ignore this attitude. Leave the wolves to the Death Dealers.”

“You are not my father,” Stiles replied. “And my risk is not any greater than theirs.”

“They are not sons of the king,” Gerard replied. “Nor are they council members. Which you are, yet you seem to constantly forget about. And one day, you will become an Elder, as is your birthright.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he ignored the way his armor pulled at him. Since his father’s absence, everything began to run how Gerard saw fit. Constant rules and variables to be observed and carefully not overlooked. It was tiresome, and Stiles was done with Gerard’s self promoting.

“You are well thought of in the council, Stiles,” Gerard began. “But it is a precarious thing. They grow tired of your games, knowing that you pursue these other activities opposed to your duties. You _will_ learn the dance of politics—how to be ruthless and cunning. And above all, you will be loyal to your family.”

“I _am_ loyal to my family,” Stiles defiantly replied, turning away from Gerard as he exited the throne room. He pretended he was headed back to his room, knowing full-well that where he was headed proved he was nothing like what Gerard painted as loyal.

~*~

Derek arched his head back as far as the collar allowed, revealing the span of his throat to Stiles, giving into the desire to be marked by him. He buried his hand in Stiles’ hair, tightening his grip as Stiles’ ran his tongue along his Adam’s apple, grazing his fangs across his skin. He sucked in a deep breath when Stiles placed a kiss where his sword had cut into his flesh earlier.

“I almost reached out for you,” Stiles confessed, moving up to capture Derek’s lips once more. “Gerard just came out of nowhere. We’re never to have a moment’s peace.”

It had become a regular occurrence for Stiles to publically ridicule Derek, even to ignore his very existence. It worked for the decades since Gerard become the sole-awoken Elder in the Coven. Everyone believed that by slipping a collar on Derek’s neck, Stiles’ affections for him were extinguished, his attitude towards Derek souring. It was something they both agreed on, to publically play their roles in order to thwart suspicion.

Despite the rules and Lydia’s disapproving looks, Stiles continued to sneak out as often as he could to meet Derek in the ruins of the old keep—the abandoned tower left to crumble high above the Coven’s walls. It was where they first had sex, completely secluded from everything as they broke their false vows to never see one another again. It had been the same night Peter and Jon took to slumbering, leaving Gerard in charge. Stiles had found Derek at the forge, pulling him from his cot to bring him through the tunnels leading here. They couldn’t keep to themselves after that, constantly reaching and lingering whenever they knew prying eyes weren’t looking.

Derek pulled Stiles into his arms, holding him close as they kissed, trying to ignore thoughts of earlier—thoughts of Stiles almost being killed by wolves. His hands rested against his lower back, holding them together as they lost themselves in their kiss.

It was always urgent, always a flurry of hands and vows of love. Heavy pants and hurried kisses passed between them, both frantic in their need for the other.

“Make love to me,” Stiles softly breathed into Derek’s ear, his teeth nipping at the skin just below his earlobe.

Derek immediately lifted Stiles from his lap, settling him across the rocks as he moved to give him everything he asked for. He was helpless when it came to Stiles—every wish and concern becoming his own.

Stiles let Derek splay his body out underneath him, leaving him open and vulnerable. For Stiles, vulnerability with Derek never felt like a weakness. It was liberating to feel completely under someone else’s control, to give Derek a power that had been denied to him since his birth.

The hours quickly passed, both of them exhausted but neither of them willing to part just yet.

Stiles clung to Derek, carefully moving in time with every thrust of Derek’s hips. He tightened his legs around his waist, moans escaping him as he rode out every euphoric wave building in his core. He pressed against Derek’s shoulders, an attempt to speed his movements as he bounced himself up and down in Derek’s lap. He pressed his forehead into Derek’s temple, unable to stop his gasps with just how perfected Derek’s movements were. That’s when he felt the shift in Derek’s body, almost always feeling it happen before Derek even knew it.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, his own movements faltering. He looked up at Stiles in awe as he watched his eyes burn their icy blue, his fangs elongating as he released a pitched whimper.

Stiles’ fingers tightened like pistons in Derek’s hair when he leaned back, making it easier for him to work himself open. He watched as Derek reined in his wolf, his eyes still turning their crimson red as his own fangs descended. He leaned forwards, gently nipping at his throat, a small plea for Derek to make him come. He was nothing more than a debauched mess when he finally came undone, his moan easily turning into a sob as he rode out every last bit of pleasure. He listened to Derek’s breathing slow, his arms secured around Stiles’ waist as he settled them both down onto the ground.

Stiles reluctantly rolled off of Derek, giving them enough room to capture their breath. He smiled when Derek pulled him back in close, pressing soft kisses into his hair. He turned his body to face the cliff, looking out over the high walls of the Coven. He smiled as he curled his body around Derek’s arm, thankful he was letting him use it as a pillow. He placed his own kiss against Derek’s bicep, pushing into Derek’s warmth when Derek nuzzled into his neck.

As usual, they allowed a silence to fall between them as they reveled in each other’s company. Stiles moved his leg back to gently caressing the pad of his foot across Derek’s leg. He smiled when Derek released a tiny rumble from his chest, face still buried in Stiles’ back. He waited until Derek’s chest was settled against his back, arms wrapped tightly around Stiles as they let the moments pass, before he spoke.

“Do you dream?” Stiles asked, his fingertips tracing the curves of the rock beneath them.

“What type of question is that?” Derek asked, his lips slowly tracing the curve of Stiles’ neck.

“It’s just a question,” Stiles answered with a small laugh escaping him as Derek’s lips tickled his skin.

“If I do, I have a hard time recalling them,” Derek replied.

“Sometimes I dream about a place—one that’s far away from here,” Stiles confessed. “A place where we can be free from all this.”

Derek remained silent, listening to the beat of Stiles’ heart. It was always difficult to read Stiles’ heart, but it had become easier over the years. He had grown accustomed to the silent rhythm it drummed out, a beat that was unmistakable to Derek now.

“You’d leave your father?” Derek questioned, uncertain if he wanted to know the truth.

Stiles paused, running through his thoughts. “If you were with me, I could.”

There was no blip in Stiles’ heartbeat, nothing to indicate that he was lying.

“He’s your father,” Derek offered in argument.

“And I will always love him,” Stiles replied. “But you’re …” He turned his body, slowly leaning onto his back so he could better look at Derek. His eyes flickered across Derek’s features. “You, my love, are greater than my own life. I could not continue another day of eternity without you. If anything happened to you, I would cease to exist.”

Derek pulled Stiles in close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, losing himself in the intoxicating scent of everything _Stiles_. He moved to rest on his back, letting Stiles sprawl himself across his chest, completely lax and comfortable in clinging to Derek. He tightened his arm around Stiles’ waist, knowing their time together was almost over. He hated having to part, always hesitant to let Stiles out of his reach.

Stiles focused on the patterns his fingertips traced through Derek’s chest hair. The small tugs on his hair anchored Derek to the moment, preventing him from drifting into sleep. They both knew Stiles was doing it as a distraction—avoiding the question that was running through his mind all night. He released a defeated sigh, turning his body into Derek’s more, their legs tangled together as he arranged his thoughts.

“Is it true what you told Gerard?” Stiles finally asked. “That you feel nothing when you kill them?” He relaxed into the caress of Derek’s fingertips on his shoulder, thankful he didn’t freeze under his question.

“They’re just animals,” Derek started. “Incapable of thought or feeling, so why should I feel anything for them?” His voice was hollow as he spoke, placing a gentle kiss into Stiles’ tousled hair as he sat up, slipping from Stiles’ arms. He tried to pretend that his wolf didn’t react with each death; that he didn’t feel an emptiness growing in him when he realized he was a wolf without a pack—a home.

Stiles remained still, his eyes raking over Derek’s back, listening to the faint beat of his heart as he let the silence between them grow. He trusted Derek, completely, but he didn’t believe it when he told him he felt nothing for the other wolves.

Gerard believed Derek’s lie because he was arrogant enough to think that just because there was a collar clamped around Derek’s neck meant that Derek revered him. He couldn’t even see how much Derek despised him, even when lying about his loyalty for the Argents.

But Derek couldn’t fool Stiles with his words. He noticed the way Derek looked at the dead body. He saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes before he looked up at him. And for a moment, Stiles was sure the only reason Derek continued his groveling for the Argents was because of him. Derek never once hesitated to kill a wolf if Stiles was in danger. And Stiles didn’t like to think of what Gerard would do if he discovered that truth.

“If I left, would you come with me?” Derek’s voice broke through the night, pulling Stiles from his worries and suddenly tossing him into a pot of new ones.

Stiles immediately sat up, staring at Derek in confusion. “Left? As in, outside the Coven’s walls? You know I want to, but it will take time.”

Derek hesitated before nodding. He was certain telling Stiles wasn’t a mistake, but his stomach began to unravel when Stiles only stared at him, offering him no smile or hint of acceptance.

“I’m thinking of leaving here. Soon,” Derek added. “Perhaps escaping under the light of day.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that,” Stiles hurriedly stated. “Don’t even think it.” He shook his head. “Derek, they wouldn’t stop hunting you. Gerard derives a sick pleasure from having you on a leash,” he rambled. “He’d hunt you down and use you as an example.”

“Not if I could remove this,” Derek stated in reassurance as he touched the collar encasing his neck.

“What?” Stiles asked in confusion. “Derek, I’ve looked for the key but there isn’t one,” he tiredly confessed, shaking his head.

“Look,” Derek began as he reached for his discarded trousers, rummaging through the pockets until he produced a small metal object.

Stiles looked down at the metal object—a key—in Derek’s hands, inspecting it as Derek held it up.

“This will be my freedom,” Derek explained.

“Derek, promise me you won’t use it,” Stiles pleaded as he wrapped his hand around Derek’s, covering the key from sight.

Derek cast his eyes away from Stiles, gently biting his lip. “That’s your answer then? You want me to stay here, like this? Like an _animal_?” He noticed the way Stiles recoiled from the bitterness in his voice.

“Derek,” Stiles gently called his name, cupping his cheeks in his hands. “It’s not like that,” he tried to reason as he placed their foreheads together. “You know it’s not.”

“Vampire and Lycan,” Derek sighed, pulling back from Stiles. “We’re both children of the night—Hale children … yet my family are slaves.” He looked up at Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice was hoarse as he spoke. “You know I want nothing more than to see you out of Gerard’s chains. I’m trying to do my best with the council, and once I ascend as an Elder, I can change it—all of it.”

“But when, Stiles?” Derek asked. “For decades I’ve kept silent. Your father does not awaken for nearly another century.”

“Peter isn’t as cruel as Gerard,” Stiles started. “I can reason with him. He’s your uncle, he’ll—”

“He’s not,” Derek bitterly snapped, turning his head from Stiles. “He permitted my mother to be butchered. He saw a profit to be made in me, nothing more.”

“He’s come to your defense more than once,” Stiles tried to reason.

“I’m nothing but an animal to him—something to keep alive as long as it is valuable. And to them, I am only valuable while leashed,” Derek stated.

“Please, just give me time,” Stiles begged.

“How long, Stiles?” Derek asked as he turned to face him. “How long are we to continue sneaking around like criminals? How long am I to ponder what life with you would feel like? A life without a Vampire cracking a whip over me?”

Stiles recoiled, casting his eyes away from Derek. He was used to Derek’s anger at the other Vampires, having enough with their need to degrade him; to unjustly punish him for things he never did. It still hurt to hear Derek’s disgust for Vampires, often feeling as if he could not separate Stiles from the rest of his species.

Derek released an aggravated sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” he paused as he collected his words. “You _know_ I didn’t mean you,” he softly stated.

“I know,” Stiles hesitantly replied. “But you have to realize my hesitations to proceed with this course of action,” he started. “I want to see you free—more than anything, I do. But Gerard and the council will retaliate out of anger should you escape under their watch; free against their wishes. I’ve been planting seeds of doubt throughout the council, winning them over one by one. When Peter awakes and Gerard takes the slumber, I can make my proposition.”

“There are still decades to pass before—”

“I know,” Stiles stated. “And to ask you to endure a second longer is unforgiveable, but you have to trust me.”

“I will use this key, Stiles, and I will leave here,” Derek defiantly confessed, knowing that despite Stiles’ attempts, it was Jon who slipped the collar around his neck. Without Jon’s approval, the council would never agree to releasing him from his shackles. He gently brushed Stiles’ hair out of his face, watching the way Stiles’ eyes fell, hope leaving them. “But I can never be without you,” he explained. He released a heavy sigh, knowing he was right all those years ago about making a mistake to allow Stiles into his heart. He couldn’t leave him behind, even if it meant freedom from his shackles. “I’ll wait.”

Stiles looked up, surprised by Derek’s statement. He knew that every fiber of Derek’s being wanted to leave the Coven, and he felt guilty for being the reason to keep him here.

“I promise you, my love,” Stiles started, his hand moving to cup Derek’s cheek. “I _will_ see you free. As soon as I can.”

They grabbed for one another, unable to hold back. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, his hands clasping along his back as he tried to cling to him. Derek pushed his fingers into Stiles’ hair, holding him as an anchor, unwilling to let him go.

There were more than enough warnings against mixing of the species, how often vampires would sneer at the very thought of a Lycan getting close enough to breathe the same air as them, let along being intimate. Derek recalled the way Gerard would often show him off to the other vampires and human nobles. ‘ _A credit to his race._ ’ Sometimes the nobles would lay a hand on him, to gage a feel for his muscles—a bragging right to say they touched a living werewolf and lived. But that was as far as Derek or any other Lycan was allowed to interact with anyone outside their species. What he and Stiles were doing was highly illegal, both knowing it would all come crashing down if someone discovered their secret. But it was too perfect—too essential—for them to care.

Derek supposed that was why it all came crashing down sooner than they thought possible.

~*~

It was the night the human nobles were to arrive at the Coven, offering tribute to the Vampire Elders. They offered up whatever their lands could provide—silver, gold, jewels, humans—all in a guarantee that the Vampires would protect them from the wolves at their doors.

One of the only times Derek was permitted to see Stiles was when the Death Dealers would arm themselves before leaving the Coven. Tonight was no different. Stiles looked at Derek with fractured interest, maintaining the appropriate attitude for a Vampire to have when forced to converse with a Lycan.

Derek handed Stiles his sword in silence, waiting for the others to leave.

Stiles pretended to not notice the way Derek anxiously watched the others. It began to worry him to the point where he delayed himself longer than the others in order to give Derek a chance to speak.

“Let someone else go,” Derek finally stated when the other Vampires had cleared out.

“Why?” Stiles asked in confusion as he sheathed his sword.

“Last night … after I left you—” Derek paused when he noticed Stiles eyes dart around the forge in search of an eavesdropper. “Just let someone else go.” He foolishly reached a hand out, fingertips barely brushing a few strands of Stiles’ hair before he was out of his reach completely.

Stiles jerked his head away from Derek’s hand, his gaze hardening. “In case it escaped your notice, _blacksmith_ ,” he used the same tone as the night before, a mask Stiles often slipped back into with great ease, sometimes causing Derek to have doubts about him—about _them_. “I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

Derek recoiled completely, moving what would be considered the respectable distance between Vampire and Lycan. It was a space Derek almost never placed between them, Stiles never forcing him to keep his distance unless it was in front of an Argent or their assistants. He looked away from Stiles when another guard came in, informing Stiles that their horses were ready.

Stiles nodded, turning to head out with the guard. “Besides,” he started as he stopped in the doorway, turning on his heel to look at Derek. “You can watch over me from the wall.” A faint, private smile crossed Stiles lips before he quickly exited the forge.

From his spot in the forge, Derek carefully watched Stiles mount his horse before headed out with a handful of Death Dealers. He deeply sighed as he moved back to busying himself, his wolf still anxious with concern.

“Careful, blacksmith,” a voice commented from within the shadows of the forge.

Derek paused his movements, his entire body becoming rigid as he looked for the owner of the voice.

“Lest your eyes betray your secret.” The owner walked out from the shadows, revealing himself to be none other than Peter.

“Peter?” Derek asked in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be—”

“Sleeping, I know,” Peter waved his hand in dismissal. “But I like not having a bedtime anymore. I’ve been alive for centuries without one, and I never look back.” He moved to stand by the forge, inspecting the different weapons on display. If he was worried about being caught, it did not show.

This was the first time Derek was ever addressed by Peter. It was by strange happenstance that Derek figured out Peter was his uncle. Gerard had once let slip a comment about Talia being Peter’s sister before Jon silenced him. Peter never made an effort to correct him, or even to talk with Derek about it. Of all the Elders, Peter was the one that kept his distance the most. Tonight, however, was different. Peter seemed completely uncaring that he was in the small space of the forge with Derek.

“If Gerard knew—”

“Gerard is an idiot,” Peter sighed, turning his eyes towards Derek. “However, you are being the clueless imbecile now. Tell me, is a Vampire really worth the risk?” His eyes glimmered brightly, taunting that he knew a secret he wasn’t meant to.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, my lord,” Derek huffed through clenched teeth.

“Come, come now,” Peter started in a tut-tut tone. “I can see the longing in your eyes from yards away, I’m certain Gerard sees it from a mere few feet away.”

Derek’s eyes flared red, angered by Peter’s treatment of the topic. “If you threaten Stiles, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Peter’s eyes flashed blue, a response to Derek’s challenge. “You do realize that Gerard will not hesitate to kill Stiles if he discovered this, don’t you? You and Stiles both think Gerard will stop with you, but he won’t. He’ll string Stiles up right next to you in order to make an example, dear nephew.”

“I’m not your nephew,” Derek bitterly snapped back.

Peter heartily laughed. “Naïve and stubborn. Just like your mother. Well, not the naïve part—I think you just crafted that on your own.”

“You let my mother be butchered like an animal,” Derek stated with a glare.

Peter moved faster than Derek thought was possible for Vampires. He had his hand wrapped around Derek’s throat, just above the collar. He tightened his grasp, knowing that he wouldn’t kill Derek, but at least suffocate his breathing for a few moments.

“I _loved_ my sister,” Peter nearly snarled. “I even loved her when she turned into that beast. Remember, you are alive because of _that_.” He released Derek, his eyes returning to their normal color.

“Why are you awake?” Derek questioned, running his hand over his throat, ignoring what just transpired. He wasn’t surprised to hear that the truth Gerard had promoted about Talia was nothing but lies. But he also couldn’t trust Peter’s version either. He was forced to derive at his own conclusions. There was, however, a small amount of hope forming in his very core that perhaps Peter was sympathetic to his plight—at least enough to help grant him an escape from this life. An escape with Stiles.

“I am awake for my own reasons. I am merely extending my helping hand to keep you and your boy from senselessly dying,” Peter replied.

Derek turned his head when he heard approaching Death Dealers. He waited until they passed before turning his head to look at Peter. But it was too late; Peter was already gone by the time he looked back.

~*~

It had been no more than a handful of minutes before Derek’s wolf started to pace, itching at his human skin in a way it never had before. It was telling him to change, to chase after Stiles. Something was wrong, and his wolf knew it before everyone else.

That was when he heard the howls.

Derek snapped to attention, lifting his head to look towards the source of the howls. He knew they came from where the Death Dealers were heading. “No,” he barely whispered when the howls suddenly started resonating louder. “You have to get your men out there,” he suddenly yelled at one of the Death Dealers.

“Silence, dog,” the Death Dealer snapped at Derek, turning to ignore him once more.

“There are too many wolves out there!” Derek yelled. “They will be torn apart!”

Derek reacted on instinct alone, unable to ignore the feeling of dread he felt in his stomach. He easily dismounted the Death Dealer sitting atop the horse, moving to mount the animal himself. He quickly dashed the horse outside the Coven’s gates, ignoring the yells of the Death Dealers as they scrambled after him.

Though it was the first time Derek was outside the Coven’s walls without the intent of seeking out the old oak tree, he couldn’t focus on anything but Stiles, all thoughts of escape vanishing. He pushed the horse to move faster, determined to reach Stiles and the Death Dealers before the wolves.

~*~

Stiles knew they were outnumbered, easily dispatching any wolf that approached him with a swift swing of his sword. He opted for staying on his horse, trying to give orders to the others as he attempted to protect the carriage. He caught sight of the human slaves, chained and blindfolded behind the carriage, nervously turning from side to side as they were forced to listen to the skirmish.

Stiles rode his horse along the trail, quickly swinging his sword at the chains attaching the slaves to the carriage. It took several tries, but the metal finally broke against Stiles’ sword. He turned his horse around, evaluating how many wolves were left.

“Remove your hoods and take cover!” Stiles yelled at the slaves when he realized it was hopeless to demand the unarmed humans fight.

Stiles turned his head when he heard approaching hooves. He knew it was Derek before he saw him. “Derek!” He yelled, moving his horse towards the front of the carriage in order to meet him half way. “You’re supposed to be—”

A wolf suddenly tackled Stiles from his horse, causing him to fall into one of the wolves’ many burrowed out tunnels.

Stiles knocked the dirt from his eyes, turning his head to see where he was. He snapped to attention when he heard two wolves barreling down the tunnel towards him, prepared to attack him at both sides.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled his name in hopes that he would find him. He caught sight of the first wolf, turning his sword and driving it through its head. He tried to pull the sword back out, the small area making it impossible for him to get it back. He struggled harder when he heard the other wolf only a few feet from him. He turned his head, prepared to claw at the wolf if necessary.

The wolf suddenly stilled a few inches from Stiles’ face, its teeth bared in an attempt to bite him. But the wolf was motionless.

Stiles realized it was dead when he caught sight of a blade sticking through its head, someone killing it from above ground. He was momentarily surprised when an arm came into his vision, reaching for him to take it. He quickly grasped it, letting the owner pull him up through the hole the wolf had knocked him through. He was relieved when he realized it was Derek.

They momentarily forgot themselves when they hugged one another, both overjoyed that the other was all right. It only passed for a moment before more howls sounded.

Derek pulled back from Stiles, pushing the prince behind him in a protective manner. His eyes scanned the trees, noticing that more wolves were dashing through the forest and headed straight for them. The humans who had been killed by the wolves were starting to convulse, their corpses turning into wolves themselves.

Derek reacted on his instincts—his need to protect. He pushed Stiles back away from him, causing him to trip over one of the many bodies as he softly landed on the ground. He took his key from his pocket, easily inserting it into the lock, twisting it free.

“Derek, no!” Stiles yelled when he realized Derek was removing his collar. “Don’t!” He screamed in protest, understanding that he intended to shift, just like when they were children.

But it was too late. Derek was already shifting, a loud roar emitting from his throat as he moved to crouch protectively over Stiles the second one of the wolves got too close to him. The wolves ceased their attacks, turning to look at Derek as they stilled. It was the same reaction from decades ago when he shifted to protect Stiles. The wolves hesitated before moving away from them, slinking back into the forest.

Stiles quickly scrambled, moving to kneel in front of Derek. “Turn back,” he quickly huffed. “Derek, turn back before—”

Derek released a pained howl, falling to the ground as all strength left his limbs.

Stiles turned his head to notice that more Death Dealers arrived, shooting the one wolf left in eyesight—a wolf that stood in close proximity to Stiles.

“Stop!” Stiles bellowed, moving from his spot on the ground to stand over Derek. The Death Dealers immediately ceased their actions when they realized it was Stiles yelling at them. He ignored them, quickly prying the arrowheads out of Derek’s back. His hands lingered longer than it was safe to as they moved across Derek’s back, inspecting the way the wounds profusely bled under the wolfsbane. He kept his hands against Derek as his fur changed back to skin, retaking his human form once more.

“He did it to save me!” Stiles stated as he stood, taking a step back from Derek’s naked body when he noticed Gerard was suddenly riding up to them.

“Am I not master of this house?” Gerard demanded as he dismounted his horse. His glare flickered from Derek to Stiles, briefly glowering at the young prince before turning back to Derek.

Stiles tried not to flinch, turning his head from Derek when Gerard kicked him.

“You know you are _never_ to remove your shackle, yet you break Jon’s law after he gave you your pathetic life,” Gerard snapped. He kicked Derek again, not satisfied with Derek’s disobedience. “Your days of _plush_ living are over, slave.”

“Gerard, leave him be. He did it to save my life,” Stiles stated with more command in his voice. “I told you—”

“Hold your tongue!” Gerard yelled as he turned to Stiles.

The Death Dealers cast their gazes between Stiles and Gerard, uncertain who to obey should something arise from their disagreement.

“You have defied me for the last time,” Gerard plainly stated. “Get him out of here!” He commanded.

Stiles looked at the guards that moved towards him.

“You dare to try and command me to leave?” Stiles started, turning his attention back to Gerard. “Do not forget that half of these men you call your soldiers are my father’s. You have no right to—”

“I think I do, Prince Stiles,” Gerard snapped. “Your father slumbers while you are my ward. I am the head of this Coven, and you have yet to ascend as an Elder.” He smirked at Stiles’ unusually quiet nature, knowing the boy was more than shocked at the discovery that he did not hold as much sway as he thought. “Now, as I said before,” he turned to look at the guards. “Get him out of here.”

~*~

“For removing the collar, thirty lashes!” The guard called out, the rest of the Lycans being forced into rows as they watched Derek being shackled to the posts.

“You have irked me, dog, for the last time,” Gerard stated as he addressed Derek. “Jon gave you your life.”

“And you gave me chains,” Derek defiantly stated as he looked Gerard in the eyes.

Gerard scoffed. “I really thought you would have been broken by now, but you keep on fighting to defy me.” His eyes wandered over Derek. “I wonder if there is something I can take from you. Hm?” He looked to be in pensive thought, pacing some in front of Derek. “I wonder if there truly is something you desire—something you love—what would give me great pleasure to take away.”

Derek remained silent, controlling his desire to snap his fangs at Gerard.

“ _You_ cannot have your life without that collar. And I would love to make an example of you, Derek, I really would,” Gerard stated, a smirk falling over his lips as he walked away.

Derek watched Gerard walk away, his eyes turning to linger on the balcony of Stiles’ room. Derek spent many nights staring at that balcony, often wondering when he would next see Stiles. He fastened his grip on the chains, focusing on Stiles’ balcony.

Stiles was pacing back at forth at the foot of his bed, uncertain how to proceed in order to free Derek from Gerard’s unfit punishment. He paused, ignoring the way Lydia made a move to comfort him.

“Stiles, you knew this would happen,” Lydia began when he walked out of her reach.

“I planned on freeing him, Lydia,” Stiles replied, pausing to look at her. “Freeing all of them when I became an Elder.”

“Stiles, the council would have to agree with you,” Lydia replied, taking his hands in hers. “You would need a majority vote, or else nothing would change. Gerard has people cowering under his heel, they would never side with you.”

“When my father awakens—”

“He will still be slumbering for another century,” Lydia immediately corrected him. “Even if you convinced Peter, what do you think your father will do? He’s the one that put Derek in the collar to begin with.”

“My father did that to protect me from a false threat.”

“He still shackled him.”

“You don’t understand,” Stiles stated, pulling away from her. “If I made a proclamation to reverse the slavery—to give the Lycans back their rights—Derek and I …” He took a deep breath, turning his back to Lydia. “We could be together … I could accept taking him as my mate.”

“Stiles,” Lydia breathed out a heavy sigh, not knowing how to sway him any differently.

“I love him, Lydia,” Stiles confessed, his words no louder than a breath of wind spoken between them.

“It is nonsense,” Lydia replied.

“More than you loving Jackson?” Stiles turned to face her, not surprised by her shocked expression. Jackson was just another human to the Vampires, but Stiles caught the way both he and Lydia looked at one another. It was a similar look passed between him and Derek. Regardless of Lydia’s lack of rank, the council would never allow a human and Vampire to mingle together. “Derek and the rest cannot remain shackled, Lydia. They deserve their freedom, as much as we do.”

“Gerard will have you killed if he discovers this,” Lydia replied.

“He wouldn’t risk my father’s wrath,” Stiles replied. He had wished that his father argued with Gerard’s plans to rotate the council Elders. _Two asleep, one awake, as it shall be to afford leaping through time_. The minute his father accepted sleep, Gerard changed nearly everything. It all started with him challenging Stiles’ every move and punishing Derek every chance he got.

Stiles quickly turned his head to look at the window when he heard the first crack of the whip. He moved to his balcony, only to have Lydia yanking him back into the shadows of his curtains.

“If they see you, Gerard will know everything,” Lydia harshly whispered.

Stiles pressed himself into the window’s frame, pressing his cheek against his hands as he tried to hide from the pain. He wanted nothing more than to be there with Derek, to even take the lashes for him.

Derek could see the outline of Stiles’ form as he lingered in the shadows. He could make out the way his heartbeat increased with every crack of the whip. He could hear the way he bit back his protests. And in that moment, Derek knew he could take whatever punishment Gerard gave him. He could endure this—for Stiles, for them, he could endure it.

Derek’s eyes clouded crimson, flickering between the red of his wolf and the green of his human. The sides fought with one another, uncertain which form could deal with the punishment best. Then, the pain of the whip digging into his back suddenly began to disappear—completely falling away from his thoughts as they became nothing but _Stiles_. He wrapped his fingers around his chains, his claws growing as he willed himself to not struggle against them. Before long, he could hear the hitch in the guard’s breathing, the way he tired in his actions as Derek remained as vigilant in his determination to not break.

Despite it all, Derek reasoned that he could endure it. Stiles, however, resolved that this would be the last of Gerard's beatings that Derek would suffer.


	4. Freedom of the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this fic has gotten this long! (Okay, it's not **that** long, but definitely longer than I planned). Anyways, one more chapter left and it's a doozy of an angsty chapter. The angst I thought would be present in this chapter has actually been cut into the next chapter. There are a lot of twists from the original story of _Rise of the Lycans_ in this chapter. I hope you enjoy them!
> 
> But there is a silver lining here after all! I **have** decided to create a series, so you will be seeing more of our star-crossed lovers as well as new characters to be seen (Allison and Scott for example).
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Let me know what I'm doing right and wrong so I can continue to fix it and give you wonderful bundles of angst riddle stories. Thank you and love you all <3

“Your concern for Derek is … touching, Stiles,” Gerard stated as he came to stand beside the prince. He had been curious to see Stiles’ reaction to Derek’s punishment, but was only able to find the prince in the library afterwards.

“He had just saved my life,” Stiles replied with fake scorn. “Didn’t you tell me to have a little _gratitude_?” He turned his head to look at Gerard. “Shouldn’t you have a bit more _gratitude_ for the one that saved my life?”

“I show it in abundance,” Gerard snapped. “That he lives, shows the breadth of my mercy,” he explained. “Were it any other circumstances, I would have that animal fed in _pieces_ to his own kind.”

Stiles closed his eyes, controlling his urge to lash out at Gerard. “But his punishment is now over,” he stated, making it sound more like a fact instead of his desperate plea. “He will be freed.”

Gerard scoffed. “Freed? Your judgment is clouded, young prince.”

“I’ve been accused of many things, but never having cloudy judgment.”

“Your fondness for your pet lingers to this day.”

“I pushed thoughts of attachment away when my father put the collar around Derek’s neck,” Stiles challenged.

“Did you?” Gerard questioned in disbelief. He carefully eyed Stiles.

“As you said, he’s an animal. But one can have some compassion for an animal—something below one’s rank,” Stiles hated every word he spoke, wanting nothing more then to leave Gerard behind and seek out the comfort he knew he’d find in Derek’s arms.

“Compassion,” Gerard breathed the word as if it was toxic.

“Call it sentiment from my childhood, if you must.”

“You do not keep order from the inevitable chaos with _sentiment_.”

“If the chaos is inevitable, then perhaps we should not try to control it so much.”

“There are rules. Rules meant not to be broken for a reason,” Gerard stated. “Derek was to never remove his collar, not matter how _fine_ a reason. He will remain in his prison cell for the rest of his mangy life if I see it suits him.” He leaned forward, gently tucking some of Stiles’ hair behind his ear as he stated, “A cautionary tale, don’t you think.”

Stiles tried not to flinch at the sound of Gerard’s voice so close to his ear—the feeling of Gerard’s fingertips touching his skin.

“Now, let us put this behind us,” Gerard happily stated.

“Of course,” Stiles replied, hiding his hatred for Gerard the best he could as he moved away from him, placing the book he was looking through back on the shelf. He was uncertain how much longer he could keep this dance of deception going, knowing that Gerard was determined to watch him misstep. He had to see Derek. He had to get him out of the Coven’s walls. And the sooner, the better.

~*~

Derek was barely conscious when they dragged him to his cell. His skin burned from the wolfsbane, but he was content in the way he remained unbroken by their whip. He groaned when they tossed him into his old prison cell, leaving his back exposed to the air as he waited for his body to heal. He focused on his wounds, willing them to heal faster than they normally would. The moon was with him this night, speeding his recovery process. He ignored the noises the slaves made, now that they first laid eyes on him since they arrived.

Derek noticed that the person offering him water through the bars of the cell was none other than Jackson. He carefully eyed him, not understanding why of all places, Jackson ended up in the cells to begin with. As far as he knew, Jackson was the star pupil when it came to be everything a human slave should be, according to Gerard.

Jackson seemed to understand Derek’s unspoken question. “He found out about Lydia and I.”

Derek closed his eyes, knowing that the fate that faced Jackson now was probably one worse than death for him. “I am sorry,” he stated as he took the water from Jackson.

“I’m not,” Jackson replied. He sighed heavily. “I suppose I at least won’t age now. I won’t be too much older than Lydia.”

Derek looked at Jackson, studying his features. “It’s not a death sentence,” he offered.

“Just an eternity of servitude,” Jackson replied.

“Maybe not an eternity,” Derek stated. “When we make it out of here, Lydia will want to follow you.”

“She’s the prince’s personal attendant, why would she want to leave that?” Jackson sighed as he leaned against the wall of the cramped cell.

“When Stiles leaves these walls, she’s going to want to follow,” Derek replied, trying to give hope without revealing his plans too much.

Jackson eyed Derek carefully, understanding falling over his features. “He’s going to kill you,” he plainly stated. “He’ll kill you and then make an example out of the prince.”

“He’d have to catch us first,” Derek softly replied.

“I don’t know if Stiles thinks he’s above Gerard’s cruelty, or if he thinks Gerard actually _fears_ his father,” Jackson started, speaking in hushed tones. “But he will stop at nothing until he has both Vampire and Lycan cowering under his heel. And that includes torturing and murdering even royal Vampires. He’ll kill an Elder if he has to.”

“Gerard fears us, which is why he forces us into these collars,” Derek explained. “He will be cowering once he realizes he created too many Lycans to control.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right,” Jackson replied.

A silence fell among the prisoners, soft whispers here and there as the humans carefully watched Derek with fear, while the Lycans watched Derek with concern. Derek on the other hand was watching the new human slaves conversing among themselves when he noticed two of the new slaves mutely sitting by bars connecting their cell to Derek’s. He was curious what they were thinking, used to the way all the humans avoided going near his cell, fear of him making them keep their distance. Jackson was quietly sitting next to his cell the entire time, no doubt taking comfort that he had the most room in the cell do to everyone’s fear of Derek.

Derek carefully eyed the other two from his spot against the cell’s wall. He recognized them as slaves from the forest. The tall muscular one had fought against the wolves, easily killing it. He noticed the way the man kept to himself, quiet and content to ignore the rest of the slaves he shared a cell with. The other, a smaller curly haired man, had picked up one of the weapons discarded by a dead Death Dealer, and had defended himself as best he could during the skirmish. Both showed bravery where their brethren did not.

“What are your names?” Derek finally asked.

“Boyd,” the bigger man quietly responded.

“Isaac,” the curly haired man hesitantly answered.

“Are you afraid of them?” Derek asked as he watched Boyd close his eyes to take in the noise of the prison cells. “The wolves. I saw you battle against them in the forest.”

“I wanted to live,” Boyd reasoned.

Derek nodded before looking at the other slaves. “Are you afraid of me?” He asked Boyd and Isaac, interested in their reasons for staying close to the bars.

Boyd opened his eyes to look at Derek. “Yes,” he opted to tell him the truth, not seeing the point in lying.

“Well, don’t be,” Derek replied, resting his back against the freezing rock. The drop in temperature felt good against his skin, easing the blaze from the whip’s lashes as he healed. “I will not bite … much,” he added with a small smirk.

Isaac released a small laugh as Boyd returned a similar smile to Derek’s.

“I saw you turn,” Boyd stated, leaning forward as he inspected Derek’s gaze. “They obeyed you.”

“Yes,” Derek admitted, recalling the way the wolves stopped their assault, moving back from him and Stiles. One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence … perhaps three will be a pattern. “Yes they did.”

“Are you like them?” Isaac curiously asked.

“No,” Derek immediately replied. “A Lycan, yes, but not like the wolves. Lycans may return to their human forms. The animals you fought tonight were spawn of Talia … my mother. They were once human, but when bitten by Talia, her curse became theirs. Some call them purebloods. They’re savage, mindless beasts, just as the stories foretell.”

“Your mother?” Isaac questioned.

“Derek was born from one of the wolves,” Jackson answered, keeping his eyes closed. He had heard the story enough times while serving the council, that he could tell the story with as much knowledge and understanding as his own life story. “Rumor is Derek is capable of feats no other wolf or Lycan are capable of. Some even say that he can’t die. And then others, like Gerard, fear that Derek will get bitten by a Vampire.”

Isaac’s eyebrows furrowed, glancing at Derek. “I thought no one could survive a bite from both species.”

Jackson laughed, opening his eyes for the first time. “Derek’s special,” he looked at Derek, knowing he was annoying him, but until Derek threatened him, he wasn’t going to stop talking. “Have you heard about the children of Hale? Immortal brother and sister. Peter, one of our Vampire Elders, was bitten by a bat, and forced to living a lonely life of immortality under the darkness of night. Talia, the first werewolf, was bitten by a wolf, and forced to live an equally lonely life as a beast. The theory Gerard fears most, is that the Hale bloodline can resist both bites without dying. In theory, Peter could be bitten by a wolf and live. And Talia and Derek could be bitten by a Vampire and live.”

“What would you become?” Isaac asked Derek out of curiosity.

“Something else,” Derek replied. He knew of the myths, but in truth, they scared him the more thought he gave them. He was already cursed to be half a beast, and he refused to risk being stuck as one should the bite take away his humanity. It was why Stiles and he were always careful whenever together. Stiles always retracted his fangs if the need to mark Derek became too great.

“Half-Lycan, Half-Vampire,” Jackson stated. “Supposedly stronger than both. He’d be the only one of his kind then.”

Isaac looked confused. “But I thought you said—”

“Peter will never take the bite of a werewolf, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to save his sister,” Jackson sighed.

Derek’s head perked up, looking at Jackson in confusion. “My mother is dead,” he stated, a small growl in his voice.

Jackson lifted his head, looking at Derek in confusion. “Your mother lives,” he stated, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Gerard butchered her like an _animal_ ,” Derek snarled, his eyes flaring red as he dared Jackson to lie to him once more.

“Derek,” Jackson leaned away from the wall as he spoke. “He had her entombed. He had a prison made—to lock her away in isolation for eternity.”

Derek’s heart sunk into his stomach, nausea rising as he let the words sink in. “That’s impossible. She died—she was murdered.”

“Peter wouldn’t let Gerard do it,” Jackson quickly stated. “Peter threatened to kill himself if Gerard harmed Talia or you.”

Derek narrowed his eyes as he evaluated Jackson, unable to find a lie in his story. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Gerard is convinced that if Peter dies, the Vampire bloodline will follow him,” Jackson explained. “He convinced King Jon to imprison Talia as a solution. He twisted him into believing that she couldn’t be controlled. That Peter, despite his certainty, wouldn’t be able to communicate with her.” He paused as he evaluated Derek’s features. “Derek, you’re alive because Peter won’t let him kill you. But now that Peter slumbers—”

“It’s an ideal time for him to have me killed,” Derek concluded.

“He’ll no doubt change the story around, have your death staged as an accident or completely necessary,” Jackson sighed.

Derek hesitated before asking, “Where’s my mother?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson honestly replied. “Gerard kept it hidden. All I know is what I’ve overheard from arguments here and there between council members and Gerard.”

Derek was about to ask more questions when he suddenly caught Stiles’ scent. It was faint but strong enough that he knew Stiles was close by. He instantly knew the figure by his cell door was him, before he even laced his fingers through the bars. “You shouldn’t be here,” he stated in earnest as he moved to the door, placing his fingers over Stiles’.

“You’re awfully happy to see me for saying I shouldn’t be here,” Stiles replied, releasing a small huff of nervous laughter as he ran his thumb over Derek’s fingers.

“I’m always happy to see you,” Derek replied.

Stiles smiled, wishing he could reach through the bars and kiss Derek. “I had to come. Derek, I’m so sorry. Your back. It’s my fault Gerard—”

“No, no,” Derek shook his head, stopping Stiles’ apology. “I’m all right.”

“But if I hadn’t of left. If I had just listened to you, this never would have happened,” Stiles argued.

“Then you wouldn’t be who you are,” Derek replied. “This is not your fault. Never think that this is your fault.” He forced his hand through the bars, gently caressing Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles turned his head into the comfort of Derek’s opened palm, smiling at the contact. His eyes fluttered open to look at Derek, knowing his eyes were flashing blue with utter want to have Derek hold him close.

“I can’t remain here, I have to leave,” Derek hastily explained.

“Gerard will look for you,” Stiles replied.

“Of your Death Dealers,” Derek started. “Are there none that you can trust?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles replied. “Their loyalty to Gerard appears greater than their loyalty to me these days.”

“Peter,” Derek suddenly whispered.

“Peter slumbers,” Stiles started. “I know he’s your uncle, but I’m not an Elder yet, I don’t have the power to wake—”

“No, he knows about us,” Derek stated.

They both paused, looking after the sounds of footsteps as two guards moved to exit the prison.

“How does he know?” Stiles quickly asked. “How have you talked to him?”

“He sought me out earlier—warned me against watching after you. I don’t know how he’s awake but that doesn’t matter. Somehow, he tricked Gerard into thinking he took the slumber,” Derek explained. “If Gerard doesn’t know anything, then Peter wants something; he’s working against him. If you find out what it is that he wants, there is a chance he will help us.”

Stiles nodded, moving away from the bars. He paused his actions, moving forward to reach through the bars far enough to pull Derek close. He pressed their lips together, ignoring the roughness of the metal separating them. The kiss was too quick, over too soon as they both released each other, parting completely as Stiles took off into the darkness without another word. He refused to say goodbye.

~*~

“Morning is upon us, Stiles,” Gerard stated, moving towards him as the council began to disperse for sunrise. “Let us put this night behind us.”

“Gladly,” Stiles replied, wishing to meet with Peter sooner rather than later.

“But before we do, I have some difficult decisions that need your attention,” Gerard stated, delaying Stiles.

“Of course,” Stiles replied, standing at attention.

“With Derek gone, we will have to promote another Lycan in his place,” Gerard explained.

Stiles’ stomach churned, a feeling he had not felt since his mother’s death bubbling up into his chest. He looked up at Gerard, knowing that his face gave away something when the old man’s eyes narrowed on him.

“Gone?” Stiles questioned.

“Yes, Kate thinks that he’ll stir up the others. Best to get rid of him now,” Gerard explained.

“My father would not approve of that,” Stiles began, knowing that hiding behind his father was the best course of action. “He spared Derek to help strengthen the Lycan-Vampire relations.”

“Relations,” Gerard scoffed at the word. “Jon has done his work, but Derek has betrayed that trust. It’s time to elect a new Lycan. One that will respect us.”

“That will be difficult,” Stiles stated, turning his back on Gerard as he paced. He paused, knowing Gerard was counting on him to reject the idea—knowing that something was being set into motion. “He’s been with us so long that … Perhaps Thran. Or Crassus.” He turned to catch Gerard staring at him, calculating his every word and move. “They will be trustworthy,” he explained.

“Excellent choices, my prince,” Gerard replied. “I’ll take those into consideration.”

With that, Gerard left Stiles in the throne room, leaving him to his thoughts of how to plan Derek’s escape.

~*~

Derek sat in silent introspection, keeping to himself as he listened to the slaves fight amongst themselves. He heard the outbreak of a scuffle between them, the Death Dealers’ laughs scraping against his eardrums. He opened his eyes to see two of the Lycans fighting with one another.

“Enough!” Derek roared loudly when he was confident the Death Dealers were gone. The Lycans pulled away from one another as they watched Derek. The humans also turned their attention to Derek, uncertain what would happen.

“Is this how you want to live? To be their entertainment? _Their pets!_ To cower beneath the Vampire’s whip, and then fighting amongst ourselves?” Derek paused, noticing that more and more of the human slaves and Lycans were starting to pay attention to him. “So tell me, is this what you want? I have lived by their rules my entire life. I’ve protected them—envied them. And for what? To be treated like an animal. We are not _animals_! We do have a choice! We can choose to be more than this—their slaves, fighting amongst ourselves or we can be our own people! Lycans!”

He waited as he heard the uproar coming from the other cells, radiating deep within the pits of the prison. He looked over at the humans, noticing how Boyd and Isaac nodded to him, a silent confirmation that they were with him.

~*~

Stiles paced in his room, twirling his pendant between his fingers. He looked down at it, remembering the day his father gave it to him.

It was after his mother’s death.

“You, my child, have been and always will be the most precious thing in our hearts,” Jon stated as he placed Claudia’s pendant around Stiles’ neck. Stiles tried to hold back the tears as he mourned his mother, accepting his father’s embrace once the pendant hung around his neck.

“My, my,” a familiar voice stated from the corner’s shadows. “Someone is worrying himself sick.”

Stiles immediately turned around to face the owner of the voice. He released his hold on his pendant, eyes carefully examining Peter. “Why did you reveal yourself to Derek?” He immediately asked, wanting to know Peter’s motive for involving himself in their affairs.

“Because you’re going to get him killed,” Peter simply stated, closing the gap between them. “Or get yourself killed. But either is really like getting Derek killed now that his wolf recognizes you as family—his pack. His mate, even. You’re the only thing he has now, and to be separated from you makes if nearly impossible for him to contain his wolf.”

“How did you know?” Stiles asked. “How did you know about the two of us?”

“The humans may consider us to be dead, Stiles, but I assure you, I am far from that,” Peter stated. “You’d have to be blind or ignorantly proud like Gerard in order to miss the way you and Derek look at each other. Your father knew it just as I always have.”

“My father was the one that—”

“Put Derek in the collar, I know,” Peter sighed as if it wasn’t the first time he’s heard this. “Your father saw how the council members and Gerard started to notice the way your sight lingered on Derek, and vice versa. Do you really think Jon derived pleasure from latching that collar on Derek’s neck?” He questioned as he moved to sit at Stiles’ vanity. He lounged in the chair, looking around him before smiling when his eyes landed on Stiles. “You wanted to free him so bad, but you’re the one that pushed your father into leashing him.”

“You mock me,” Stiles stated in anger.

“I’m forcing you to face reality,” Peter snapped back. “Neither of us have the fate we want. Yet you are the fool who keeps wandering around aimlessly as he tries to free his lover from his fate.” He paused as he analyzed Stiles. “Your father put that collar on Derek to show the council members and Gerard that he had Derek under control. He did it to protect both of you from the ignorant masses that fear Lycans and the comingling of bloodlines. But when they discover that Derek isn’t under control—that you’ve lain with him and plan to escape—they will be _ravenous_.”

Stiles watched Peter, carefully considering the weight of his words. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Peter questioned. “There’s a lot of things I want, young prince, sadly none of which you can give me.”

Stiles moved with urgency, pressing the edge of his blade against Peter’s throat. “ _What_ do you want?”

“I’m glad Derek picked you,” Peter commented with a smile. “You’re a lot feistier than I originally thought.”

“Tell me!” Stiles demanded.

“I want you to take Derek, leave here and never come back,” Peter seriously stated.

“Why? What do you gain from that?” Stiles questioned.

“What do you care what I gain from it? You’ll be free to be with Derek. No longer looking over your shoulders as you sneak off to be together,” Peter explained.

“Why wait this long?” Stiles asked.

“I’ve been watching Gerard these past few decades. I’ve learned his weaknesses, his strengths,” Peter started. “I’ve done my own research into obtaining things I’ve wanted for a long time. And now is the time to collect. So,” he moved his hand against Stiles’ blade, pushing its edge away from his throat. “How about we start with getting Derek out of Gerard’s reach?”

~*~

Derek remained silent when a Death Dealer came into his cell, tightly grasping his arm to pull him upright. He let the Death Dealer lead him into one of the far off, empty guardrooms. He paused his movements, observing the empty space. He immediately noticed Peter when he emerged from the shadows, his body going rigid as he prepared for an unknown attack.

“You don’t have long, Derek,” Peter stated. He moved past him, heading out the door Derek entered as he let hooded figure enter.

“I’m sorry, but there was no other way,” Stiles’ voice cut through the silent room as he removed his hood. He quickly closed the gap between them, both of them immediately moving in for a kiss once they were within reach of each other.

“So, Peter will help?” Derek asked in disbelief as their lips parted.

“You were right,” Stiles quickly stated as he grasped Derek’s forearms to keep his attention. “He didn’t tell me why he’s tricked Gerard, but if we keep quiet about it, he’ll help us.”

“I think I know why. It has to do with my mother. I’ll tell you about it once we’re free of this place. But you are certain Gerard knows nothing?” Derek asked for clarification, his fingertips gently brushing Stiles’ hair back behind his ear.

“I’m sure of it,” Stiles stated in haste.

“Stiles, this can work,” Derek breathed a sigh of joy, everything in their lives suddenly falling together.

“Derek, it has to,” Stiles replied with a sad tone.

“Some will come with me,” Derek quickly stated. “Isaac and Boyd, Jackson, and maybe even—”

“My love—”

“I’m certain I can—”

“Derek, there is no time!” Stiles suddenly snapped to get Derek’s attention. “Gerard will have you killed tomorrow, after the humans are turned. You must leave at sunrise.”

“And you?” Derek questioned, not liking where this conversation was going. He was not going to leave Stiles in Gerard’s grasp.

“The important thing is that you stay alive. Your best chance is when Gerard and the Death Dealers sleep. I will be by Gerard’s side when you escape to steer suspicion away,” Stiles concluded. He cupped Derek’s face in his hands, forcing him to look at him.

“Hurry,” Peter’s voice hushed through the door.

“My love, if this works, I’ll meet you in three days, after the sun sets, and we’ll be together,” Stiles stated in a reassuring tone. “Remember the creek?”

“I could never forget,” Derek replied, leaning his forehead against Stiles’.

“The clearing beside the oak tree. I’ll meet you there.”

They both paused, knowing that if they failed in any part, this would be the last moment of peace they stole together. They both grabbed one another, their need greater than the pressure of losing time. Their lips sought out each other, desperately coming together. They knew this was goodbye for now.

Stiles pulled himself away, knowing that if he didn’t leave now, he may never. He let Derek cling to him, their arms falling away from one another as the distance became too far.

Derek was still reaching for Stiles when he asked, “And if this doesn’t work?”

“I _will_ meet you at the clearing,” Stiles replied, not leaving a room for doubt in Derek’s mind.

~*~

Isaac had a look of panic on his face when the guards came into the cell full of humans, grabbing them and forcing them outside one by one. He pushed back as he shot Boyd a look, frowning as a result.

“Isaac, Boyd,” Derek called their names, making them look over at him. “Don’t be afraid.”

They kept their gaze on Derek, nodding before following the others. Derek shook his head, moving to pace his cell as he waited for a signal from Peter. He immediately turned to look up through the grate to notice the person lingering above him.

“You know what your problem is, Derek?” Peter questioned as he came to kneel over Derek’s cell. “You don’t understand the natural order of things.”

“Things change, Peter,” Derek replied.

Peter smiled in response. “Be ready when they do.” He suddenly tossed something to Derek, almost catching him off guard. “Consider it a parting gift, nephew. Hold your prince close to your heart when you get him. Gerard’s not going to be happy when he discovers a wolf fooled him.”

Derek inspecting the object, noticing it was the key he crafted for his collar. “And what of you, _uncle_?”

“You don’t remember your mother, do you?” Peter questioned, lingering as his eyes scanned his surroundings.

“I remember a wolf,” Derek answered.

Peter laughed, turning his attention back to Derek through the grate separating them. “I remember my sister,” he replied. “Long black hair, confident smile—an attitude to match”—he smiled fondly as if he was recalling a memory—“For you, the Elders, everyone else, they remember a wolf. But I remember my best friend, my confidant, my _family_.”

“What are you planning on doing?” Derek asked, hesitant to discover Peter’s intentions.

“I intend to see my sister again,” Peter replied. “And perhaps I will earn that right to see her again if I do right by you.” He suddenly turned his head to inspect incoming Death Dealers.

“You plan on freeing her?” Derek asked.

“As I said, nephew,” Peter looked down at Derek as he spoke, his eyes scanning Derek’s features intently, as if he was committing them to memory. He didn’t appear surprised that Derek knew the truth about Talia, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested he was strangely proud of him for figuring it out. “You don’t understand the natural order of things, but then again, neither do I. When you’re free from here, you’ll never be able to stop running until your enemies die.”

“So, you want me to kill the Argents?” Derek questioned.

“No,” Peter replied. “I want you to _live_ , Derek. That alone is the biggest blow you could deal to Gerard.”

“But why? After all this time,” Derek questioned.

“I don’t expect you to understand me,” Peter replied. “But, if you don’t have family to turn to in these dark times, you have nobody. And no one deserves to suffer an eternity alone. So,” he stood, fixing his coat. “Run, nephew. Take Stiles, and keep running.”

And that was exactly what Derek did. He didn’t waste any time rallying the Lycans, waiting until Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson returned, fresh bite marks decorating their necks. They were unruly, but united under Derek’s plan, quietly following him out of the prison as they used the key to remove their collars, one by one. It was impossible for all of them to get out, the Death Dealers becoming increasingly difficult to avoid until they were suddenly spotted.

Derek vowed he’d return for those forced to remain, determined to not leave a single Lycan to be stepped on by a Vampire. A handful of them were able to successfully make it out alive, saved from the rallying patrol when the sun started to rise. Derek waited just outside the wall when he saw Gerard standing over the wall, murderously glaring down at him. He waited, taking in every last ounce Gerard’s hatred, a small smugness falling over him in a wave as the sunlight burned Gerard’s skin, forcing him back into the shadows.

Gerard couldn’t touch Derek now that the sun was rising above the distant mountains. And Derek knew it would only serve to anger Gerard more. That was what made his stomach drop as he remembered that even though he was free, others still remained shackled under Gerard’s tyranny. That Stiles was still inside the Coven’s walls. He forced himself to follow after the others, trusting in Stiles’ words that he would meet him in three days by the creek.

~*~

Stiles turned around to examine his chambers, aiming to find what he should pack and bring with him. He was overjoyed when he heard that Derek had made it beyond the gates just as the sun rose. He had to return to his room almost immediately in order to hide his smile and joyful laugh. He pushed himself into finding his different necessities, determined to be ready to leave as soon as possible. The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up, prompting him to quickly turn around and face the intruder he sensed lingering in his room.

“Gerard,” Stiles stated his name breathlessly, caught completely off guard. “What are you doing in my private rooms?” He moved to put a greater distance between them.

“It occurs to me, Prince Stiles, that I have been thoughtless,” Gerard stated, inspecting the different trinkets lining the shelves. “I’ve been so deep in my need to correct Derek’s betrayal, that I gave no thought to your feelings.”

“My … feelings?” Stiles questioned, uncertain how cautious he needed to tread.

“Feelings … worm their way into our lives. We often forget the travesty of their birth. I myself had a tenderness towards Derek.”

Stiles barely contained his scoff. Everyone knew Gerard disliked him, however none knew how great that degree was until Jon entered his slumber. It was then that Stile suddenly started to understand what was happening. _He knows_.

Gerard knew about him and Derek.

“He could have been anything. But he was born an animal,” Gerard paused, voice still calm. “Did you help him escape?”

“Help him? Of course not,” Stiles tried to sound insulted as he kept his back to the door, prepared to run from Gerard and his impending threats.

“Are you lying to me?” Gerard’s voice was impossibly calm, making Stiles more nervous than at ease.

“There are many things I have done against your will, but he is a Lycan,” Stiles tried to hold the level of distaste that would be deemed appropriate, knowing that he failed when Gerard continued to linger in his room.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Gerard stated, moving in close, placing a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, Stiles thought he was in the clear; that everything was going to be all right.

“But you leave me no choice,” Gerard stated, his fangs suddenly sinking deep into Stiles’ neck.

Stiles yelled, trying to pry Gerard off of him before he saw everything. Flashes flew by, his memories being leeched out of him to be shared with Gerard. Memories of his childhood flipped by as if they were nothing but stills taken from the moments they represented: his mother reading to him; his mother on her deathbed; his father giving him his mother’s pendant; comforting Derek on the full moon—their first kiss; the time they spent in the creek; his father putting the collar on Derek; him seeking out Derek and convincing him to still meet with him; their first time together in the keep and the countless nights that followed; Derek showing him the key; him telling Derek about his plan to free the Lycans; him telling Derek to escape before sunrise. He knew it was too late when Gerard released him, throwing him to the ground with unrelenting force.

“You ungrateful, spoiled child!” Gerard yelled, pacing quickly. “You betrayed us all! To be with an animal!”

“I love him!” Stiles firmly stated as he pushed himself up off of the ground.

“Love!” Gerard shouted in disgust. “ _You_ and that _animal_ will make an example for _both_ clans to follow.”

“Derek is free, and you will _never_ have him again!” Stiles defiantly yelled back, not caring what Gerard threatened.

“Derek will return of his own free will,” Gerard angrily stated, pleased with himself as he stood in the doorway to Stiles’ room. He paused, reining in his anger before he continued, “Because now I have something he wants.” A triumphant smile crossed Gerard’s lips before he slammed the door, leaving Stiles to the piercing silence of his room.

“He doesn’t leave,” Stiles could hear Gerard sternly command the guards outside his door.

Stiles pushed himself off of the ground, placing a hand over the bite mark Gerard had left on his neck. His fingers grazed over the jagged bumps as they slowly started to heal. He closed his eyes, praying that Derek wouldn’t fall for Gerard’s trap. _Please, my love, please. Don’t come back. Do not come back for me._

Deep down, Stiles knew it was pointless to pray that Derek not return. Because no matter the obstacle between them, Derek would come for him.

~*~

The Lycans’ numbers had swelled over the past few days, courtesy of liberating many human slaves from the neighboring lands. Most of them willing joined the Lycans, accepting the bite from Derek—as well as the immortality that went along with it.

“Has there been any sign of Stiles?” Derek asked as he entered the small camp they had set up by the creek.

“No,” Jackson replied.

“He should be here by now,” Derek replied, eyebrows furrowing as uncertainty began to build in his gut.

“Why are we waiting for him,” Jackson replied. “He’s not one of us.”

“Have you forgotten that he freed us?” Derek replied, not wanting to speak about Stiles in such a negative light. “Or your love for Lydia?”

“They are both Vampires, and we’ve all suffered at their hands. Stiles is their prince. If he has deceived you, he could lead them here.”

Derek released a growl, turning to face Jackson as his hand grabbed his throat. “Death Dealers will be on the hunt—the Argents will undoubtedly find us, but _not_ by Stiles’ doing.” He paused, shaking his head as he let his temper settle, releasing Jackson from his hold. “I trust Stiles with my life. And as long as I’m your Alpha, so shall you.”

Boyd waited for Derek to walk away before he smirked when Jackson looked at him. “I told you not to say anything,” Isaac commented as he continued to tend the fire.

Derek settled himself under the oak tree, looking up at the moon. He remembered all the times he and Stiles settled beneath this tree’s branches, staring up at the moon as they talked for hours. He remembered the first time they actively touched one another, the way Stiles’ touch enflamed his skin and made his body feel alive for the first time in his life. He closed his eyes, keeping his thoughts clear of worry as he tried to have faith in Stiles’ parting words. _He’ll be here. We’ll be together soon._

Almost an hour passed before a horse and rider finally approached.

Derek smiled, confident that it was Stiles. His steps were rushed as he moved towards the approaching figure, only to stop when he noticed the scent did not belong to Stiles at all. It was similar, a scent of a person that spent a great deal of time with Stiles, but it was not Stiles himself.

“Lydia,” Derek called her name as she removed her cloak’s hood, revealing her face. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Stiles has been arrested,” Lydia’s voice wavered as she answered, fear and heartache for Stiles rolling off of her in waves. “He _knows_ about the two of you. Gerard knows.”

“He’ll kill him,” Derek somberly stated, his worst fears becoming a reality.

Lydia grimly nodded, before turning her horse around. “I thought _you_ should know,” she added, the blame evident in her voice. She briefly glanced back at Jackson, unable to make herself stay as she headed back to the Coven, forcing the horse into a gallop. Part of her wanted to stay, but she wouldn’t betray Stiles, not now. She would stay by his side until his death if need be.

Derek didn’t hesitant as he prepared a horse, grabbing two of the swords from their stolen armaments.

“It’s a trap, you know that,” Boyd tried to reason with Derek. “He knows that Stiles is your weakness and that you’ll rush back there for him.”

“I will not leave him to die alone!” Derek replied, moving through the trees as he pulling the horse’s reins, headed back towards the Coven.

“They followed you here, Derek,” Isaac hurriedly stated as he stood, gesturing towards their growing numbers. “They will leave without you.”

“They only think they followed me here,” Derek started as he turned to face them. “But what they really followed was freedom. Keep them together until I get back, and if I don’t, then you both lead them yourselves.”

Without another word, Derek took off into the night, riding back to the Coven—back to Stiles.


	5. As I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting this chapter because something strange occurred and deleted it a while after I posted it, so I don't know how many of you saw/read the old update.
> 
> As stated before:  
> There is a scene I have written that I need to perfect that will take place as the epilogue aka the next/last chapter. Lots of angst in this chapter, though. It is depressing, and hurts, but the epilogue will be up some time tonight, and will hopefully heal all our pain.

Stiles paced back and forth in front of his bed. He pulled at his pendant, worrying it between his fingers as he counted down the seconds. He knew it was inevitable, that either Gerard would give up on Derek and come back to punish him, or Derek would be storming the Coven. Both situations set Stiles’ nerves aflame, positive that neither had the happy ending he and Derek intended.

Stiles snapped his attention towards the door when he heard a scuffle coming from the hallway. He quickly moved to grab his weapon, the sword that Gerard overlooked while locking him away. He stood ready, waiting for the door to open.

“Stiles!” Derek called as he slammed open the doors to Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles released the breath he was holding, sighing in relief as he quickly darted forward into Derek’s embrace.

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked as he leaned away from their embrace to inspect Stiles.

“No,” Stiles shook his head in response. “But, Derek, you were free,” he began to protest, his happiness in seeing Derek return being replaced by the fear he’d be caught.

“No, I wasn’t. Not without you,” Derek replied, shaking his head before resting his forehead against Stiles’.

Stiles released a small, joyful sob as he nodded. _We’ll finally be free from this nightmare._

“We have to go, now,” Derek stated, taking Stiles’ hand in his as he pulled him out of the room.

It all seemed as if everything was falling into place. That should have been the first indicator that not all was as they thought.

Stiles tightly clasped Derek’s hand, tangling their fingers together as he followed Derek through the corridors, avoiding as many unsuspecting guard patrols as possible. He released a small sigh of relief when they reached the tunnels, knowing that they only had to worry about slipping out from under the wall. They both had walked these tunnels numerous times, completely capable of navigating them blind if need be.

Stiles knew they were pressed for time, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling back on Derek’s hand before he moved further into the underground tunnels.

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, a quizzical look covering his features.

Stiles didn’t hesitate in his motions, taking the few steps forward to press his lips to Derek’s. His free hand settled on Derek’s shoulder, finger nails digging into his muscles as he tried to hang on in an attempt to wait out some unknown lingering force. He vocalized his sigh of approval when Derek’s arm encircled around his waist, holding him tightly against his chest.

Their fingers clutched at one another, a silent understanding that they both knew why they had to stop—why they had to steal a moment. This was the final moment that decided their fates—their freedom.

Stiles pulled back, placing one last kiss against Derek’s lips before releasing a deep sigh. He nodded, letting Derek know he was ready to move.

Without another second passing, Derek pulled Stiles after him as he ducked through the passages. Stiles kept a steady eye behind them, constantly looking back whenever he thought he heard something. An unsteady feeling began to form in his gut, knowing that they should have met some form of resistance.

It was as if Stiles’ thoughts sparked Gerard’s trap into action.

Suddenly, a barrel fell from the grate above them, dashing to pieces as it landed just in front of Derek. Derek shielded his eyes with his forearm, turning his attention to the barrel’s contents. His eyes widened when he realized it was oil, and his initial concerns were correct. He had ignored the smell, used to the way the tunnels held a sulfuric undertone. He should have been able to decipher Gerard’s intent.

They both looked up in time to see a single torch falling through the grate.

“Move!” Derek yelled as he turned towards Stiles, pushing him to run down one of the side tunnels.

Stiles' reaction was instantaneous, turning to run away from the ignited flames with Derek right behind him. He ran as fast as he could, halting when another torch fell from the grate right in front of him. He barely dodged the flames when Derek grasped his arm, pulling him down another hallway.

Corridor after corridor passed as they dodged every torch falling until they reached a barred dead end. Derek cursed when he turned to find the flames at their backs. He turned his attentions towards Stiles when felt his hand on his shoulder. He looked up the minute he realized Stiles eyes were focused on the ceiling.

There was an open grate above them, and they both knew it was their only option to escape the flames.

“Toss me up,” Stiles demanded, bending his knees in preparation.

Derek eyed Stiles’ facial features, ignoring the growing flames licking at their feet.

“Derek,” Stiles snapped. “This is our only choice.”

“It’s a trap, Stiles,” Derek replied.

“We both knew this was likely to happen,” Stiles replied as he moved in closer to Derek. “I don’t regret our actions,” he stated in reassurance, reaching a hand up to touch Derek’s face. “I want to be with you, and I am willing to fight our way out of here for that.”

Without hesitation, Derek moved in to Stiles’ space, pressing their lips together. He gently bit Stiles’ bottom lip, enveloping the moan that escaped. He held Stiles close, memorizing how it felt before reluctantly letting him go. He pressed his forehead against Stiles’ as he nodded in acceptance that the only way left out was to head straight through the heart of Gerard’s trap.

~*~

The Death Dealers were paused in their movements, waiting for a sign that Derek and Stiles were either dead or had somehow escaped their grasp. They were caught completely unprepared when in a flash Stiles emerged from the grate. He was like a whirlwind, diverting their attention from the grate as he easily began to disarm one after the other. They were all uncertain if they should fight back, some of them still holding onto a small shred of their loyalty to the Stilinski clan.

It wasn’t until they caught sight of Derek that the Death Dealers finally moved into action. Though Stiles was their prince, Derek was the one leading their enemy. They turned their attention away from Stiles to deal with Derek. They were given orders to subdue Derek—Gerard stating explicitly that he would rather Derek breathing, but would accept him dead.

Stiles reacted on instinct alone, pushing his way past the first Death Dealer, dealing the first deathblow of the night. He maneuvered around the others, fighting his way to Derek. He deflected blow after blow, swiftly spinning his way out of the others’ blades.

Derek was able to fight back against every guard attacking him. He tried to spare as many lives as possible. He pushed them back out of his and Stiles' spaces, his claws easily tearing through armor and flesh, wounded them enough. He was caught off guard when an arrow pierced through his thigh, yelling out in pain as the chain yanked him off balance. He fell to his knees as he gripped the arrow, attempting to pull it out. Guard after guard began to surround him, all placing their blades on him.

"Derek!" Stiles yelled his name, swinging his sword to catch the Death Dealer headed straight for Derek. He was caught completely off guard when a hand grasped his arm forcing him to spin around. He blindly swung his sword backwards, only to be blocked by Gerard's own sword.

Gerard swiftly back handed Stiles as he released him, causing the young Vampire to stumble backwards. Without hesitating, Stiles raised his sword to Gerard, holding him at bay.

“How _dare_ you raise your hand to me!” Gerard yelled when Stiles raised his sword.

“I do not want this,” Stiles simply stated.

“You betrayed your own father!” Gerard stated.

“ _You_ betrayed my father!” Stiles yelled, swinging the sword at Gerard. He moved as fluidly as possible, determined to land at least one blow on Gerard, hoping that it would make the guards see sense—that he was just one person.

Gerard released a laugh. “You think you can defeat me?”

“I never wanted to defeat you!” Stiles replied, quickly spinning to sweep Gerard’s legs out from under him. He moved fast enough to have his blade pressed against Gerard’s throat when he landed on his back.

“Killing me won’t save your precious Lycan,” Gerard practically spit the words at Stiles.

“Call off your men,” Stiles calmly stated, his grip on the sword tightening when he realized the guards were refusing to release Derek. His eyes flickered over to Derek, watching him carefully before looking back at Gerard.

“You won’t kill me,” Gerard stated in triumph. “You wouldn’t risk losing _him_.” He gestured towards Derek, smiling when Stiles’ eyes flickered once more over to Derek. He used the distraction to his advantage, disarming Stiles before pressing a thin blade into his throat.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled, only to be knocked to the ground.

Stiles tried to get to Derek, struggling until Gerard pressed the knife deeper into his skin. He let Gerard force him to watch as they pulled Derek off towards the prison, knowing he was bound to follow.

“You really think this was just about him?” Gerard questioned. “You both played beautifully into my plan. And now, you’ll both have to go before the council, and be judged for your actions. Not even your rank will save you from that, _my prince_.”

Stiles winced as Gerard twisted the blade into his skin for emphasis.

~*~

They had both been stripped of their armor, forced into separate cells. Derek’s eyes lingered on Stiles, taking in the rags they forced him into, the way the chains clearly cut into the soft curves of his wrists. He hated that he couldn’t free him—that he failed to save him. He moved, weaving his fingers through the bars as he waited for Stiles to acknowledge his presence.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, scooting closer to the bars in silence. His lips fell into a thin line as he ran his fingertips along Derek’s fingers, ignoring the metal bars as much as possible.

“If I had never left,” Derek started, his fingers idly playing with Stiles’ as they avoided the confines of the bars between them. “None of this would have happened.”

Stiles gave Derek a weak smile, focusing on the feeling of Derek’s fingers against his own. He pressed his head against the bars, trying to process just how badly the outcome would be.

“Then you would not be who you are,” Stiles softly smiled when Derek looked up at him. “Things are forever changed because of you. For the better, Derek.”

“I still failed you,” Derek bitterly replied, looking up at Stiles.

“No,” Stiles shook his head in disagreement. “Derek, my love, you have not failed me. You never failed me. All the risks you said that you were willing to take for me, I was willing to take for you as well. For us.”

Derek offered Stiles a weak smile, trying to hide the sadness behind it. They both pressed against the bars, lips finding one another’s. Derek easily wiped one of Stiles’ tears away with the brush of his thumb. He memorized the delicate feeling of his soft lips against his. The way Stiles tilted his head into Derek’s palm. The way they both released small moans of contentment, neither of them regretting their choices.

Stiles bit his bottom lip when Derek pulled back, his lips ghosting against his. “I love you,” he whispered in a stolen breath.

“As I love you,” Derek replied, carefully studying Stiles’ face.

“Open the door!” A guard’s voice growled.

Stiles turned his head to see the guard entering his cell.

“Get up!” The guard barked, harshly grabbing Stiles by his bicep.

“No,” Derek protested, tightly holding onto Stiles’ hands and his shackles. “No!”

Stiles tried to hold on, his hands just slipping from Derek’s.

“I’ll kill you!” Derek yelled at the guard, his shift becoming uncontrollable as the anger pulsed through him. His anchor was being ripped away from him, and his wolf was taking over his humanity. “Do you hear me? I’ll kill every last one of you!”

Derek felt the searing pain of the wolfsbane arrows before he realized what they were doing. The arrows pierced through the curves of his shoulder blades, causing him to slump forward in silence as the wolfsbane slowly entered his bloodstream. He was disoriented before he ultimately blacked out.

~*~

“The accused has committed high treason against the Coven,” one of the council members’ voice cut through Derek’s delirium, causing him to realize they had dragged them both into the council room to face judgment.

“He has _consorted_ with animals. Helped them escaped.”

“I have saved this Coven countless times!” Stiles argued, keeping his head high.

“You have _killed_ your own kind. And allowed a beast to _mount_ you,” the council member snorted with disgust as he casted his eyes towards Derek.

“Your past glory does not excuse your present guilt. Nor does your station as a council member protect you from these crimes. The punishment is death. How vote you?” Another council member asked, ignoring Stiles’ attempt to argue.

“Aye,” one council member stated, turning her nose up as Stiles looked at her. Soon another ‘aye’ followed, which was followed by another and another, slowly sweeping throughout the room.

“He is your ward,” Derek stated to Gerard, despite the way the entire council ignored him. “He is an Elder’s son—he is your prince!” He was shocked as every council member continued with their ‘aye’s of approval.

“Aye,” Gerard finally stated, the last to speak his condemning of Stiles.

Stiles looked down at his hands, a knot forming in his stomach. He was going to die. He knew the outcome would likely be death, but he never thought he would never see his father again. That he soon would never be able to lay eyes upon Derek’s face.

“Very well, take him to the chambers,” the original council member stated.

“No, you—you can’t do this!” Derek yelled, struggling as best he could against the guards as they dragged him, the wolfsbane working to make him as weak as a human.

“Come with us, my lord,” the guard addressed Stiles, taking his arm as they began leading him towards the sentencing chambers.

“Gerard! Stop this!” Derek yelled. “You want _me_ dead! Go ahead and take it! Leave him alone!” His shouts were left unanswered as he was dragged away.

With every struggling protest Derek made, the more the guards twisted the arrows in his back. He finally fell silent when he realized he couldn’t do anything with the arrowheads lodged deep in his back.

Neither of them made a protest as they reached the punishment chambers. They even remained silent as the guards shackled Derek into place. Stiles tried to keep from breaking down, his eyes focused on nothing but Derek as they moved him. The guard began to unwind the whip, ready to begin on Derek.

“Wait,” Gerard held his hand up as a gesture to stop the guard. He moved closer, taking the whip from the guard, inspecting it as he turned it over in his hands. He moved even closer to Stiles, smiling when Derek strained against his shackles.

“Did you know wolves are territorial?” Gerard asked to no one in particular. He nodded to the guards holding Stiles’ arms.

Obeying Gerard’s silent command, they took hold of Stiles’ shirt, easily ripping the material in two in order to reveal his bare torso.

Derek harshly yanked on the chains, a growl emitting from his gut as his eyes bled red. He was determined on ripping Gerard’s throat out with his teeth, knowing exactly what he intended.

“I think he doesn’t like the idea of someone else marking you up,” Gerard stated as he looked from Stiles to Derek. “Tell me, Derek, how well do you know Stiles’ body? Have you mapped every beauty mark as constellations yet?” He laughed when neither of them attempted to answer him. “Let’s see if we can add a few more … _marks_ to map.”

“Leave him alone!” Derek yelled, crying out when one of the guards twisted an arrowhead in his back.

“Derek!” Stiles gasped, struggling for the first time.

“How sweet,” Gerard commented. “You’re only concerned for one another. I think this makes it that much better.” He turned his attention towards the guards restraining Stiles’ arms. “Hold him tightly.”

Derek’s eyes widened as he tried to push himself up, attempting to fight his chains.

“I told you Derek,” Gerard started. “How much pleasure I would get from taking away the last thing you cherished.”

The whip cracked loudly as it spliced through Stiles’ back, causing him to pull away from the pain. Stiles bit down his pained cry, holding it in out of spite for Gerard. He held it together for the first few snaps of the whip, but was unable to stop himself from crying out when the whip nicked the bone of his shoulder blade.

“Ah!” Stiles screamed as the whip gained speed and force, his eyes changing to their icy blue as his fangs elongated, tears forced from his eyes. The pain escalated, a white-hot agony searing through his body in pulsing waves.

“Leave him alone!” Derek screamed at Gerard. “Leave him alone and whip me!”

The crack of the whip stopped. Stiles’ pained screams had stopped, only to be replaced by his heavy pants.

“You always were his little guard dog, weren’t you?” Gerard questioned. He didn’t wait for Derek to answer before he tossed the whip back to the original guard. “Whip him until the pain’s too much.”

“No,” Stiles protested, his voice weak from his earlier shouting.

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Gerard started, gesturing towards the guards.

The guards unceremoniously tossed Stiles forward, causing him to collapse on the cold tile in front of Derek.

“You’ll be here with him,” Gerard finished.

Stiles turned his head towards Derek, slowly reaching his fingers out to Derek in an attempt to hold onto his hand. He was completely drained of all energy, his strength having left his body with each stroke of the whip. He was grateful when Derek grasped his hand tightly, determined to not let it go. He bit down on his protest as the whip dug into Derek’s back with quick precision. He tried to sit up—to get closer to Derek in an attempt to comfort him, but his body protested all movement as it tried to heal.

Derek refused to cry out, knowing that Gerard would somehow use it as an excuse to turn his attentions back to Stiles. His vision started to fade, the wolfsbane working its way into his system to shut it down. He struggled to remain conscious, ignoring the rough snaps of the whip digging into his back. He tightly tangled his fingers with Stiles’, holding onto him as an anchor from the pain. He wasn’t completely aware of Gerard telling the guard to stop, but he was aware of Stiles’ fingers being pulled out of his grasp. He weakly reached for him, conscious of the way Stiles protested, keeping his hand stretched out to Derek.

The room fell silent, the sound of chains clanking and clinking loudly as the guards latched Stiles to the center beam, the exact spot the sunlight would hit once the trap door above was opened. The doors yawned even louder as the council members and guards filed out of the door, followed lastly by a smiling Gerard. The doors slammed, causing Stiles to startle at the finality of the sound.

Derek struggled to become more aware of his surroundings, blinking several times as he willed his body to push the wolfsbane out of his system.

“Derek,” Stiles partially sobbed. He tried to hold his tears back as he watched Derek struggle with pulling against his chains.

Stiles looked up when the roof mechanism began to turn, noise filling the chamber as they worked to open the roof’s small trap door. The noise roused Derek faster, making him pull at the chains harder, ignoring the tearing pain in his back.

“No, Stiles. Don’t, just look at me. Don’t,” Derek started to protest when Stiles’ eyes remained fixed on the roof—focusing on his impending death. “Just keep your eyes on me. Stiles! Look at me!” Derek yelled.

Stiles looked down at Derek, unable to stop the tears from staining his face. He bit his bottom lip, painfully aware of every tick the mechanism made as it counted down the moments left, stealing the seconds away. Derek had been free, but he came back for him. He could have completely avoided Gerard’s trap, but now he was trapped here; he was going to have to watch Stiles die.

Derek didn’t know what to do or say now that he had Stiles’ attention. He wanted to say so many things to him, always deciding that they would have another chance to talk—that they would have each other’s eternities. But now they only had a few moments. He said the only thing he could think of—the only thing that mattered to him.

“I love you,” Derek stated, his eyes pleading with Stiles to keep his focus on him. They were both desperate to ignore the final outcome.

“As I love you,” Stiles breathed, a small echo from their brief moment in the cells.

All of Derek’s hope for life, for something different faded away. He’d give it all if it meant Stiles would survive this.

“I’ll never look upon your face again, will I?” Stiles asked as he kept his eyes focused on Derek. He couldn’t stop the small sob that worked its way up through his throat as a louder churn of the mechanism signaled the door beginning to open. “I _pray_ that I one day will again. Goodbye, my love.”

“No.” Derek stated in disbelief. He pulled against his chains, the metal cutting deep into his wrists as he twisted and turned, desperate to get free.

The sunlight burst through the opening, covering Stiles’ entire body. The effect was almost instant, Stiles’ once impossibly pale skin charred and burn on contact. Derek saw the final breath leave Stiles’ lungs, feeling it deep in his core as he watched on in helpless horror. The last breath escaped Stiles’ lips as he looked up at the sun, smoke kissing against his skin as it turned to ash. He didn’t struggle, life leaving his body the moment his eyes caught sight of the sun.

“No!” Derek screamed, his throat growing hoarse. “Stiles! No!”

Everything seemed to slow, his every sense becoming unbearable as he fought against his chains, metal tearing through his own flesh as he struggled. All he could do was stare on in terror as it all happened.

Derek screamed through the waking hours of the sun, his throat raw and hurt before his voice left him. He howled as a man possessed, haunted by the phantom reality that his beloved was dead, and he couldn’t even hold his body to console himself. He screamed until he couldn’t any longer, his throat aching from his wailing. He wished he could just turn it all off, that he could just pretend that everything was all right and that he hadn’t just witnessed Stiles’ death. He wished that he could still let it all go, like he used to before Stiles walked into his life. He wished his life _was_ still the walking void it was before Stiles.

Derek let his body fall against the cold tile, his limbs were complacent to lay motionless, his mind occupied by the fact that Stiles was just out of his reach. His body was chained about twenty feet from him—always out of his reach, even in death. He let the tears slip from his eyes as he remained there and waited for death to claim him. He could still smell Stiles’ scent, even though it had been tainted by the burnt smell of smoke.

He had nothing left to fight for now. Freedom was a hollowed promise without Stiles. Nothing could replace the warmth of Stiles’ smile; the touch of his fingertips grazing across his skin; the longing of his gaze; the joy of his laugh.

Derek lost it all that night—all but his determination to sink his fangs into Gerard, tearing out his throat. He could no longer wrap his arms around Stiles and drown out the world, but he could kill the man responsible for taking Stiles away from him. Something in his wolf snapped. He was alone, with no family, no pack, no mate. And that made him wish for the curse his mother suffered—wishing he never basked in the light of Stiles’ love for so long; wishing that he couldn’t feel the shadow of his loss. He wished he were a mindless beast, senseless bloodlust driving him onward. But instead, it was the memory of Stiles that pushed him; the echo of his love forever burned into every fiber of his being.

Derek remained motionless when the doors opened, the day having passed and given way to night. His eyes flickered over to those entering the room. His anger flared, his wolf taking over the last bit of his humanity when Gerard entered the room. He released a low, guttural growl, rising from his spot on the floor. His anger grew, strength pumping through his veins as the moonlight filled the room. A spasm flushed through his muscles, pushing the wolfsbane arrows from his back, leaving them to clatter uselessly to the floor. His eyes burned red, all sound becoming nothing but white noise when Gerard approached Stiles’ body, ignoring Derek as he inspected his work.

Derek released a roar the moment Gerard’s fingertips touched the pendant that hung from Stiles’ neck, the only thing left unharmed on Stiles’ body. The roar he released was different than his others. The roar was feral, filled with agony and rage. It was the roar of a mourning animal, one that saw the predator it needed to kill.

The Death Dealers flinched in response, some wavering in fear when they saw Derek rip at his chains.

“Get me my knives,” Gerard mused, his eyes narrowing on Derek.

Derek was between man and wolf, his entire body giving over to his shift for the first time. He willingly allowed himself to fully shift, taking on his wolf form. He roared once more as he grasped the chains, tugging once, twice, three times before the metal snapped under his strength. He was stronger than before, the moon aiding him in his time of need. He reared his head back, howling loudly as he called to every werewolf that could hear him—Wolf and Lycan alike. He turned his sight back on Gerard, heading straight for him.

Derek was faster than most Lycans, catching the Death Dealers off guard when he easily dodged their arrows and attempts to keep Gerard safe. He clawed through Gerard’s chest, a satisfaction falling through him when he felt his claws tear through flesh. Gerard’s yell of pain was music to Derek, almost calming in the sense that he wanted to hear more of it.

The glint of Stiles’ pendant caught Derek’s eye, halting his pursuing steps. He stared at the metal pendant, focusing on the memory of Stiles wearing it. He focused on Stiles’ smile, the way he always laughed at Derek’s constant worrying. He focused on the way Stiles would worry his bottom lip whenever he idly played with the pendant, a nervous habit he never seemed to be able to control. He focused on the feel of Stiles’ fingertips caressing his skin as they rested underneath the Oak tree. He focused on the feel of Stiles’ soft lips against his; the way Stiles would murmur ‘I love you’s against his lips.

Derek’s bones snapped and groaned in protest as he started to shift back into his human form, the lingering image of Stiles suppressing his animalistic drive. He wanted nothing more than to give everything over to his wolf—to ignore the fact that he was once human in favor for tearing his enemies apart. But he could feel Stiles pulling him back, anchoring him to humanity.

Derek reached forward, gently lifting the pendant from the spot Gerard had dropped it to when Derek attacked him. His hand was shaking as he picked the pendant up, running his thumb over its features.

“ _You_ did this,” Gerard’s voice broke through Derek’s thoughts.

Derek turned his head to look at Gerard. He didn’t care what he had to say, not any more.

“ _You_ were the one that defiled him. _You_ were the one that forced him to betray his family,” Gerard vehemently snapped.

“ _I_ did nothing but love him,” Derek corrected Gerard with as much vehemence in his voice. “And he loved me.”

“You’re the one who caused this,” Gerard refused to recant his previous attitude. “You destroyed the Vampire clan.”

“No,” Derek shook his head. “Not yet, at least.”

Derek moved to slash Gerard's throat out when a body suddenly slammed into him. He roared back in response, shoving the body from him. He immediately noticed it was Peter.

"Get out of my way, Peter!" Derek yelled.

"I need him alive," Peter replied. "As much as we both want him writhing like a worm on a hook," he looked back at Gerard, a smirk crossing his features as he thought of torturously bringing an end the man. "I need him to find Talia."

"He killed Stiles," Derek growled.

"A grievous happenstance," Peter replied.

Derek flashed his eyes red, greeted by Peter's icy blue glare. They both were about to attack one another when more Death Dealers broke through the door.

Both Peter and Derek eyed one another before falling into a silent agreement. They fought against the Death Dealers, swiftly moving to dispatch them one by one. By the time they were finished, turning their attentions towards where they had left Gerard, he was gone.

Derek cursed loudly, slamming his closed fist against the nearest pillar. He turned his sights on Peter, glaring at his uncle.

"You better leave, Peter," Derek warned him, knowing his desire to tear his apart was greater than his want to spare the last of his family.

"I will find him," Peter stated, slowly moving towards the exit as he observed Derek.

Derek moved towards Stiles' body, hesitating in touching him, afraid that he would disrupt the unknown force delicately holding his body together. He grasped the material of one of the dead Death Dealer's capes, ripping the material from the corpse. He used his claw to break the chains holding Stiles hands in place. He wrapped the cape around Stiles, easing him to the ground, swaddling his body in the material as he wrapped his arms around him.

"You better hope you find him before I do," Derek stated, his eyes fixed on the curves Stiles' charred face. "Because I won't stop hunting him." He finally looked up at Peter. "I will rip everything he loves apart. And that includes his precious species, before I tear him limb from limb."

Peter watched Derek carefully, finally nodding in understanding. "Until next time, Derek." Without another word, Peter was gone.

Many howls suddenly resonated together as one, cries and screams coming from outside the chamber's walls. The wolves had answered Derek's call, easily over running the Coven's walls to attack everything in sight.

The seconds seemed to be endless as Derek devoted his time to watching Stiles' motionless corpse. He barely looked up when he heard footsteps approach.

Jackson halted when he caught sight of Derek. His eyebrows furrowed, frowning without knowing what to say. He waited a few moments before saying, "The remains of the Vampires have fled. Derek, they don't know what to do now."

Derek nodded, allowing his arms to fall from Stiles, moving to head past Jackson. He paused before whispering, "Don't leave him."

Jackson nodded, motioning for Boyd to help him.

Derek moved onto the top steps of the Coven, overlooking the chaos that overran the grounds. He looked out among those that were left. The wolves paused, all looking at Derek as they sniffed the air, catching his scent, knowing he was the one that called them. That he was their Alpha.

A vast majority of the Lycans cheered as they watched the sunrise climb over the treetops, several of the fleeing Vampires evaporating into dust. Others focused on the lone boat leaving from the Coven, knowing that some Vampires had unfortunately survived, Gerard among them.

“It’s over?” Isaac asked hopefully as he climbed the steps, uncertain how many Vampires had successfully fled from them.

“No,” Derek stated as he pulled a coat on over his bare torso. He placed Stiles’ pendant on another chain, gently moving the metal between his fingers as he memorized the way Stiles had often ran his own fingers over the pendant. He easily placed it around his neck, feeling the weight of the day’s events sink onto his shoulders along with the pendant. “It’s just started,” he solemnly stated as he turned to look at the sun.


	6. Epilogue: Eternity and A Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it. This fic is so much longer than I originally intended! But I can't just leave my precious babies like that. I have to keep going, building this AU to encompassing other characters as well as the nicer ended that is needed. Consider this Epilogue to be a little taste of the sequel--a demonstration of what to expect in the next one. Thank you for all the lovely comments, feedback is always welcomed!
> 
> Enjoy!

_**Present Day** _

“Derek, we have to go,” Jackson harshly stated, waiting for Derek to join the rest of them in the car.

Derek ignored Jackson in favor of looking back out over the Preserve. He could hear the rapid heartbeat of a human running, terrified for their life. He could hear the way the human’s lungs burned with exhaustion, the sound of Death Dealers tracking close behind.

“There’s someone out there,” Boyd suddenly stated, turning his attention in the same direction Derek was looking.

“Yeah, there are a fuck ton of Death Dealers out there,” Jackson snapped.

“It’s a human, Jackson,” Isaac stated. “I know even you can tell that.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Jackson partially groaned. “The Death Dealers don’t kill humans, anyways. We could get killed trying to help this dumb ass roaming through the Preserve when he should know better.”

“I didn’t leave your ass behind all those years ago,” Derek started, his eyes scanning the trees.

“I’m a Lycan, this human isn’t,” Jackson replied.

“Boyd, you and Jackson get the others back to the safe house,” Derek started. “Isaac, you come with me to find the other Lycan.”

“Other Lycan?” Isaac questioned, knowing the others paused in their movements as well.

“He hasn’t turned yet,” Derek replied. “But he’s bitten.”

Isaac hesitated before he nodded, not knowing exactly how Derek could tell, but knew that he was completely capable of it. He obediently followed after Derek.

They moved until they were actively chasing after the Lycan, knowing the human side of this person's brain was panicking without knowing what was happening. They both caught sight of the figure running through the trees before Derek was able to successfully get in front them.

The figure slid to a stop, gracelessly falling backwards onto the ground. It was a young boy—a teenager—looking up at Derek in fear.

“You need to calm down,” Derek stated. “If you don’t get your heartbeat under control, you won’t be able to stop the shift.”

“The what?” The teenager questioned. “Leave me alone!”

“We’re here to help you,” Isaac chimed in.

“I’m just trying to get home!” The teenager yelled.

“You were bitten, right?” Isaac asked, waiting until the teen fearfully nodded. “We can help you. It was a giant looking wolf that did it, right?” Another nod from the teen. “We know what’s happening and we can help you with it. We’ve been through it too.”

Derek ignored Isaac’s attempts to nicely convince the kid when he heard the approaching Death Dealers closing in on them. “Look, kid,” he started, taking a step closer. “You can either come with us so we can keep you safe, or you can take your chances with the crazy people hunting you.”

Isaac tried to keep his scoff to himself. ‘ _Crazy people’ is putting that mildly_.

The teenager looked hesitant, eyes darting from Derek, to Isaac, to where the noises were getting closer. He finally nodded, taking Derek’s outstretch hand in order to stand.

“What’s your name?” Derek asked.

The teen hesitated, before finally accepting that Derek and Isaac weren’t going to hurt him. “Scott. Scott McCall.”

“Scot McCall,” Derek pondered his name before nodding to himself. “Welcome to the pack.”

~*~

A young man with short brunette hair moved through the rooms, the long tails of his trench coat flowed rapidly behind him as he moved quickly. He silently ignored the other Vampires, not caring if they eyed him with pity and contempt. He hated every moment of his time spent inside the walls of their Coven’s safe house. The only times he ever felt at ease were when he was out hunting down the Lycans. He was free to roam how he pleased then, not held onto tightly by another’s leash.

“Where were you?” A familiar voice questioned as the owner locked into step with him.

“I was out, Lydia,” he gruffly replied, headed straight for his room.

“You know Gerard doesn’t want you going out, not with the Awakening only a few weeks away,” Lydia explained.

“I don’t care,” he snapped, turning the corridor quickly.

“Stiles,” Lydia sternly stated, catching his attention.

The use of that name forced him to stop.

“I told you to never call me that,” he replied.

“It’s been centuries, and you have yet to pick a name,” Lydia calmly replied.

“Just because I lose my name doesn’t mean I am willing to pick a random new one,” ‘Stiles’ snapped.

“Why don’t you like that name?” Lydia thoughtfully asked.

‘Stiles’ didn’t respond, only heading into his room without further discussion.

“I asked you a question,” Lydia complained as she entered his room, ignoring his obvious dismissal. “If you won’t pick a name, we have to make up something to call you.”

“Gerard calls me that,” ‘Stiles’ finally stated, removing his trench coat before sitting at his desk.

“So, because Gerard calls you that, you elect to dislike it?” Lydia questioned, moving to sit on his desk, just next to his laptop as he typed away.

“It’s not just that, it’s—” ‘Stiles’ stopped himself, leaning back in his chair as he examined his laptop’s screen.

All his memories from before being turned were gone. There was nothing he could latch on to in order to think of another time—another place where he wasn’t a Vampire. He couldn’t even remember his name. But day after day he was haunted by the same nightmare.

He couldn’t move, completely restrained, the distant feeling of a cold hard metal clasped around his wrists as he struggled. He couldn’t make out the person in the distance, always a blur. But he could hear the man’s voice as clear as day.

_No, Stiles. Don’t, just look at me. Don’t. Just keep your eyes on me. Stiles! Look at me!_

It wasn’t until Gerard brought him back to the Coven that he first called him ‘Stiles.’ When he asked what it meant, Gerard only smiled, telling him that the name belonged to another Vampire—a dearly loved, but unfortunately deceased member of the clan. He never told Gerard about the nightmares—how a man screamed that name over and over again in complete and total agony.

Sometimes, if he focused hard enough, he could hear the faint declarations of love being spoken between the two of them.

_I love you._

_As I love you._

He always awoke screaming afterwards, the feeling of his skin igniting in flames, his entire body burning under a blinding light, haunted him even as he woke. He could still hear the other man’s screams through his own, even in his awoken state.

“Jon looks at me sometimes,” he started, frowning as he recalled the first time Jon had lain eyes on him.

The Elder had been pacing before he suddenly halted, gaze falling on the young Vampire Gerard was escorting. His eyes were cold and calculating as he evaluated the two of them. His mouth had fallen into a pensive straight line as he lost himself in thought before he finally asked for his name.

“He can’t remember,” Gerard replied. “But I thought we could name him.” He looked up at Jon. “He looks like a _Stiles_ , doesn’t he?”

Jon did not reply as he turned his back on them back, exiting the room in a flurry of rage.

“He looks at me and he just stares,” he explained to Lydia. “He looks sad when he does. Like he’s thinking of someone else—of whoever this Stiles person was.”

Lydia ducked her head, a pensive look falling over her as she made no move to speak. “How much do you know about this war?”

He looked up at her, furrowing his eyebrows in question. “As much as anyone else, I suppose.”

“Jon lost his son,” Lydia explained. “Prince Stiles,” she gloomily stated.

“Derek killed him,” he stated, recalling the stories he was told about how the war started.

“That’s what Gerard says,” Lydia replied.

“What does Prince Stiles have to do with me?” He asked, not wanting to speak about Gerard anymore.

“You …” She turned her gaze from him, worrying her bottom lip as she thought of all the opportunities she had to tell him the truth, but didn’t. The day she decided to tell him—the day the war seemed to take a turn for the better—was the day Kate announced that she killed Derek.

Lydia was the only Vampire willing to believe that Derek was still alive, confident that he wouldn’t leave this world without knowing Gerard was dead. Not after what happened.

When Jon was awoken, Gerard twisted the story as best he could. He was confident no one who could challenge his lies had survived that night. He told Jon that Derek had orchestrated the whole plan with the help of Peter. Derek seduced Stiles into freeing him and the other Lycans, and when Derek finally had an army big enough to overtake the Coven, he exposed Stiles to the sunlight and wreaked havoc on the other Vampires.

Jon’s fury was only fueled by his grief and guilt. He felt responsible to forcing Stiles and Derek apart, as if he somehow planted the seed of revenge in Derek’s mind. He refused to speak with Gerard after that, splitting the remnants of the Coven in two. They would both still rotated between the two of them, skipping the centuries as the war continued.

But Lydia knew of Gerard’s plans. She knew he turned this boy before her because he looked exactly like Stiles—from his eyes to his upturned nose, his Cupid’s bow lips to his beauty marks. She knew Gerard wanted another chance to capture Derek with an illusion, knowing Derek would come if he thought there was a chance Stiles was truly alive, even if he had witnessed his death himself. She was confident, though, that Gerard missed what had happened.

The boy didn’t just look like Stiles—he _was_ Stiles; somehow reborn again, only to be fated of falling back into being a Vampire, this time without his memories.

“You look just like his son,” Lydia finally confessed. “Gerard probably turned you to present you as some kind of prize to Jon.”

“Prize?” He questioned, pretending to be invested in his laptop more than Lydia. He failed at it.

“It was Gerard’s fault the prince died,” Lydia explained. “Jon never forgave him—never will, regardless of you being turned.”

“So, I’m to be named after someone because both Gerard and Jon want me to be this prince?” He bitterly asked.

“It all depends on if you are willing to be named after him,” Lydia replied.

He turned to look out the window, watching the moon light to night’s sky. He thought about how he couldn’t even remember what the sun’s light felt like. How he couldn’t remember if he had family; what his childhood home looked like. The first thing he remembered was the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into his neck, changing him from human to Vampire in a matter of moments. “Was he a good person?” He finally asked.

Lydia was surprised by the question. “He was the best person I knew.”

He turned his head to look at Lydia, frowning when he saw the sorrow in her eyes as she continued to look at him. He finally sighed, nodding slightly. “Stiles,” he stated the name slowly. The name felt familiar on his tongue, somehow connected to him.

A knock on his door interrupted them, causing both Vampires to look at the door.

“We’ve been given orders,” the female Vampire said as she leaned into the room.

“Right now?” Lydia questioned. It was getting close to sunrise, which made this mission time sensitive and important enough to risk two Death Dealers.

“That’s what my grandfather said,” the other woman replied.

“I’ll be right out, Allison,” Stiles stated, standing up from his chair as he moved to pull his trench coat back on.

Lydia carefully eyed Stiles, watching him head for the door to follow Allison. “Stiles,” she called after him. Something small tugged at her heart when he actually stopped to look back at her. “We should talk when you come back,” she explained. “About the prince and Derek.”

Stiles paused before finally nodding, knowing that part of him was craving to know more. He had been given the opportunity to know more about the past from a first hand account. He was nervous to know more about the prince and anything else that happened. But another part of him knew he needed to know what had happened. He needed the truth.

Stiles needed to learn about an eternity of conflict in a day.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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